


In Whose Eyes?

by Xin0Lan



Series: My Brain With Your Eyes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Blindness, Case Fic, F/M, Family, Happy, Happy Ending, No Slash, Sad, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 33,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xin0Lan/pseuds/Xin0Lan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's fear of losing his vision is the dreadful reality. Without those brilliant keen eyes analysing every detail, what is there left for him? The Work is His Life. His friends know that and are very worried for Sherlock becoming blind. How will each one cope with the Day of Doom? NO slash, vulgarity, or character deaths. Happy Ending. Published: 30 Sept 2013. Sequel: WATCHING OVER EACH OTHER.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To See

**Author's Note:**

> First published on Fanfiction. Slowly moving stories from there to here also. Please bear with me. This is a completed story.

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Panting heavily, Sherlock and John collapsed against the brick building, laughing heartily at their success. They just finished chasing the four suspects down the back alleys around Cardiff, right into the waiting arms of the stunned group of clueless Scotland Yard officers. It was barely a four, in fact, Sherlock solved it on the travel to Cardiff. The suspects decided to flee which made this case more tedious than necessary. " _Ugh! People have no consideration, do they?"_ Sherlock wondered. It was a simple "robbery gone wrong so becoming murders was called in", too dull for the consulting detectives liking, but it gave him something to with that vast intellect too unworthy of letting it rot.

"We're not supposed to be laughing Sherlock! This is a crime scene…." John shot at Sherlock who was slightly swaying from side to side from laughing so hard. The running was a welcomed sense of exhaustion, John enjoyed running. It felt good to feel the heart beat fast and muscles work hard. Coldness surrounded his head taking in the wall's cold.

"Hmmmm, delightful day. Got a bit of exercise and closed the case," John mused and was rudely interrupted with his flatmate's loud interjection.

Sherlock retorted, "You're one to speak John! Look at yourself! Laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath!"

"I know, I know. They were morons, you know…thinking that they could have gotten away; guess they didn't think we could keep up with them." John winced in pain from laughing too hard.

"It was very unintelligent of them, highly illogical. With my long strides and your military training they didn't stand a chance of getting away in the darkness. That, and the only way out of this maze is to turn right, then left after passing the back door to the warehouse, and then right after the second door, but they chose to keep running straight. Idiots!"

"Yes they're idiots, Sherlock. Of course, by your definition, almost the entirety of London is an idiot. Not everyone has the layout of the entire city in their heads." Ignoring Sherlock's feeble protests, he added, "The case is done. Let's go. Lestrade is giving us a lift back to London. I'm shattered"

"Fine," Sherlock huffed as he pushed against the wall to stand up. Suddenly his balance was compromised, and his vision began to spin.

_What's wrong with my sight? Did John notice my momentary lapse in balance? Surely not, it was very brief. I must have stood up too fast. This rarely happens. Maybe I should eat? When did I last eat? Ah yes. Two days ago, I had a light lunch in a café just after we arrived in Cardiff. I'm sure John is hungry. He hasn't eaten anything since this morning save for four small digestives and two cups of lukewarm tea. It's a wonder he didn't pestered for food during midday, he usually does. This feeling is unsettling, I never feel ill. I'm sure some food will stave it off for a while. Is this what starvation feels like, loss of body functions? Well,I suppose some food wouldn't slow down my brain too much. I did just solve a case, so I can actually eat if I wanted to."  
_

"Lestrade! John is hungry. He needs to eat; I'm assuming you must also. Let's stop at the café before we go home. it's a long ride. A hungry John doesn't bode well for a travelling companion. He gets in those dreadfully sour moods. Quite awful really, goes off on these rants complaining about anything that pops into his simple brain." Sherlock barked at Lestrade, who was chatting quietly to Donovan, startling the two.

"Who said I was hungry!" John chimed in, "Sherlock don't put words in my mouth, but yes I am actually starving."

"I thought I'd never hear the Great Sherlock Holmes ask for food," Lestrade commented sarcastically with a cheeky grin, "If I didn't know better, I would think you were hungry. You won't admit it, but I can tell you're starving. Look at how pale you are! I'm surprised you have enough energy to stand, much less run after criminals."

"Of course I need food! Don't be ridiculous Lestrade! Just because I don't eat regularly like you simple-minded people doesn't mean I never eat at all. I would starve to death! Boring. But it's a waste of time—eating—it slows down the brain's ability to process information." Sherlock spat back at the detective inspector still wearing his cheeky grin.

"Alright! Hurry up and get in the car!" the inspector shouted at the NYS officers, "Let's go! We're done here, paperwork can wait until we reach Scotland Yard."

* * *

The duration of the whole ride back to London, Sherlock sank into his Mind Palace turning the series of events over and over in his head. For some reason, his loss of balance and spinning vision kept nagging his brain.

"Maybe it's a signal of something I should remember," Sherlock wondered gazing out the window, "I never forget anything that is important, so why is this sensation not leaving me? I don't like it a bit. Not at all."


	2. The Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also moving chapters from this story's sequel to Ao3 also. Will try to post multiple chapters during the day.

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Once arriving back to their flat, Mrs. Hudson greeted them with her motherly concerns. Finally, John and Sherlock finally make it up to the sitting room. As John went to make tea, Sherlock flops ungracefully on the settee and falls in to a state that could only be described at catatonic. He was running madly through his Mind Palace.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Do you want a cup? If you do not answer I am going to assume you do not want one.", John shouts from the kitchen.

"Yes John", he mumbles barely loud enough for the doctor to hear, and retreats into his Mind Palace.

_What exactly happened back at Cardiff? I should not worry, it is probably nothing. Worrying is an emotion, I am above emotions- emotions do not control me. John did not say anything, so it must not be important. If it was, then, he would have mentioned it. He is a doctor after all, besides he is always on my case making me take better care of myself. Oh the good doctor, just doing his job..._

He could hear John's clipped pleading voice in his head.

_Sherlock, you NEED to eat. Sherlock, you NEED to sleep. As in actually sleep, not running madly in your Mind Palace. Do not tell me you are not in your Mind Palace. I know you can hear me, so I am going to keep talking until you pay attention to me. Listen to me Sherlock! Your eyes flutter, your hands twitch subtly, and you practically stopped breathing at one point. This HAS to stop Sherlock. You will do yourself great harm….._

_Ah John, my good doctor, you worry too much. I am perfectly fine. I am better than you simple-minded people. No John, do not take offense, you know perfectly what I imply. I do not require much sleep, or food and I'm perfectly capable and alert. Do stop nagging on me. It's not very becoming, and you know that will make people talk. I know how you can't stand that at all._

"What was that Sherlock? I heard you snickering", John inquires coming into the sitting room with two steaming cups.

John's voice pulls Sherlock out of the bantering going on in his mind. "It was nothing", Sherlock replies stoically then taking a sip nearly scalding his throat on the Earl Grey.

"OK….Now that the case is solved, are you going to eat? I mean, are you going to eat a  _proper_ meal with grains, vegetables, and meat?", John ventured tentatively.

"Fine! If you insist I need food then let us go to Angelo's", Sherlock said whilst springing off the settee in a single bound, and promptly stumbled into the coffee table with barely enough time to catch himself.

John rushed over to steady his friend and eyeing him all over with the analysing of a doctor.

"Sherlock! Are you alright? Maybe we should forgo the dinner outing, just  _this_ once. You do not look well and I have  _never_ seen you run into anything, especially this table. Who knows how many times you've leapt over this poor table abused decked out with countless scratches and bullet shots, and  _now_  you just tripped over it!", John asked with a worry expression clearly etched on his face.

"I'm fine. Just. Fine.". Sherlock hissed shaking free of John's hold and donned his coat and scarf, taking care to turn up the collar just to annoy John.

_How I like to annoy John, it makes for a different reaction every single time. A good experiment is hard to ignore._

"Get your coat and let's go. Hurry up. Are you alright? You have never suggested that I don't eat.", Sherlock rattles off trying to distract John's ever watchful eye on his well-being.

* * *

A-N: Thank you once again for reading! I do appreciate the feedback.

 


	3. To Actually Eat

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Get your coat and let's go. Hurry up. Are you alright? You have never suggested that I don't eat. Maybe you", he rattles off trying to distract John's ever watchful eye on Sherlock's well-being. Taking the stairs two at a time, both of them make it to Angelo's in record time.

Announcing his entrance quite ungracefully with his coat tails trailing behind him wildly Sherlock takes his usual seat at the window noticing every detail, leaving John to follow behind hiding trying to his embarrassment for their entrance.

"Hello Angelo. We are here to eat, actually eat. Both of us this time." glaring at John mildly.

"We'll have the usual please."

"Angelo, skip the candle this time, would you? Thank you. This isn't a date after all. Never was and never will be."

"Sure, be right out with the food", said Angelo.

With Sherlock still focused on the scenery ever changing, John fiddles with his serviette and sips his water until he decided now is as good as any time to question Sherlock.

_"It's not as if Sherlock could go anywhere…we made and deal and I am going to make Sherlock eat a proper meal whether he likes it or not."_

"Sherlock. Look at me. Please. This is important", John begins and pauses looking away and taking a sip of water.

_"With John most thing are considered 'important' when they are actually trivial, but a pause usually suggests otherwise. Usually about me. This is not a good start. He could be asking what happened at Cardiff. I should have refused the dinner outing. Ugh!"_

"Yes John?" his clear blue eyes burning a hole to John's expression.

"It's…It's about the case at Cardiff. Well actually what happened after that, I noticed your behaviour was a bit off. Want to elaborate? Don't leave anything out, I will find out soon enough."

_"What do I say? What can I say? He did notice. Great. Just great. No point beating around the bush. I can't stand that, especially when Anderson does that. That idiot! How he even manages a job is a mystery. Focus Sherlock! Think! Just tell him what he saw, surely that'll please John. For now at least."_

"Your concern for my behaviour is duly noted and appreciated, but entirely not necessary. I simply got up too fast after chasing those criminals."

"Sherlock" John dragged his name out. "There's more, don't hide it. Tell me."

"Fine.", he said and pouted.

 


	4. To Hide and Not Seek

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"It's…It's about the case at Cardiff. Well actually what happened after that, I noticed your behaviour was a bit off. Want to elaborate? Don't leave anything out, I will find out soon enough."

_"What do I say? What can I say? He did notice. Great. Just. Great. No point beating around the bush. I can't stand that, especially when Anderson does that. That idiot! How he even manages a job is a mystery. Focus Sherlock! Think! Just tell him what he saw, surely that'll please John. For now at least…"_

"Your concern for my behaviour is duly noted and appreciated, but entirely not necessary. I simply got up too fast after chasing those criminals."

"Sherlock", John dragged his name out. "There is more, do not hide it. Tell me."

"Fine.", he said and pouted contemplating what he should begin with. "I stood up too fast and lost my balance because I didn't eat 'properly', according to your definition, so I lacked sufficient energy, as for running into the table, the same reason applies", Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Right... but you insisted that ' _I_ ' or rather meant  _'we'_  should have something to eat before we left. Since then you have also snacked on biscuits and had tea. Your logic doesn't make sense Sherlock. You should not have been feeling malnourished when you practically fell on the table. You ate not too long before then AND had tea."

Sherlock avoided his gaze knowing John was too good of a friend and doctor to let the matter drop.

_"_ _Why does he have to be so good all the time? I know he care for me, wants me to do what I want but make sure I don't do anything dumb. Argh! This is frustrating. I can't let him know how I feel, that would show emotions. I am above my emotions. I control them..."_

"Sherlock, I am waiting for a reply to my question. Don't stall and think I will drop the matter", said John as he drummed his fingers quietly on the table.

_"_ _Wow! Is John a mind-reader? When did he become observant and deduce situations? This is scary."_

"It is nothing John. Don't worry about me. You worry too much. It is t good for your health. You know that don't you? I am fine. Just. Fine. Perfectly. Fine." Then Sherlock took a large bite of food to avoid the uneasiness of John's interrogating.

"Alright Mr. ' _I'm so smart I can deduce a crime scene in five minuets but can attempt to lie to a doctor_ ', How do you define "Fine" when your head is throbbing constantly and your occasional stiff and unsteady gait when you move? Hmmm...?" John's eyes drilled deep into Sherlock's subtly shocked expression.

_"This is definitely not good. Not good at all. I am never suggesting eating again. Why does he keep asking anyway? He can probably deduce all he needs to know. He's a doctor! I'm confident in his abilities to observe patients. Now that is a dreadful thought. Me! A patient! I can't stand hospitals or the staff. Most of them are so brainless even with their fancy degrees and letters after their name..."_

"I have been feeling unwell recently, I'm sure you have notice that. I brushed it off as the result of little sleep or food, but perhaps this is something new. Do not even think about taking me to St. Bart's for an examination. I loathe that place entirely, except for the morgue and the two decent persons there; Mike and Molly."

"OK Sherlock, you win this time. If I find you experiencing any more discomfort we are heading straight for St. Bart's. No questions or protests. That is non-debatable. Understand?" , John said in his clipped voice reserved only for when he was the commanding officer in Afghanistan.

"Fine. Let us go home."

Sherlock slowly rose from his seat and supported himself with the back of the chair too hard, his knuckles started to turn colours. John noticed all the subtleties, but chose not to make a scene of it knowing it would only anger Sherlock and then their evening would be ruined, a mad Sherlock that would abuse the poor violin until all hours of the night or frantic pacing in the sitting room constantly. It is really still a mystery to know how their wonderful 'landlady-not-your-house-keeper' could manage any kind of rest with Sherlock's kind of moods.

As they walked back to their flat, John noticed Sherlock's usual form was compromised. He could just imagine the dangers Sherlock might end up in in that state coming quickly.


	5. Truth in Lies and Vice Versa

**Chapter 5**

* * *

About half way back to their flat, Sherlock twice nearly fell off the pavement heading into oncoming traffic and once almost hit the street lamp had it not been for John's quick reflexes reeling Sherlock back into a straight path.

_"_ _We are definitely visiting St. Bart's as soon as possible. Sherlock's behaviour is dangerous and unsettling. I_ _need_ _answers. Wow! I sound like Sherlock now, demanding everything. Scary thought! He must be rubbing off on me with good and bad traits. I mean, I_ _would like_ _to have some answers; at least it will rest my mind. I am worried. This behaviour is definitely not usual and syncope can be a symptom of several different diagnoses."_

Stumbling their way back to the flat was quite an ordeal that left both men exhausted and going up the stairs was an even greater effort. Sherlock obviously didn't look well at all; his colour seemed paler than usual, considering the man-child hardly ate properly, was sprawled out ungracefully on the settee with a thick orange blanket draped over his frail frame. John was worn out from practically dragging Sherlock over a distanced that should not have taken more than ten minutes; instead it had taken them almost half an hour. Finally with both of them seated in the respective places. John dared to ask again, hoping he would find out new information.

"Sherlock, how do you feel? Is your head still throbbing and feeling nauseous?"

"No, I am fine. Do not bother asking, John. I know what you are going to ask, so save yourself the trouble and do not. I will not answer." Sherlock lied, hoping John could not see through it.

"Sherlock. Listen to me. I cannot just toss the matter aside like you can. This is important to me, besides I would not be a good doctor if I did not ask how you are feeling. "

"Your skills as a doctor are outstanding, John. I have faith I am in good hands, but I am not your patient so do not treat me as one. I do not have to say anything at all."

"Alright. I will not mention it for now at least. Seeing as you are currently in a compromised state, would you like to watch a film? It might take your mind off the pain some since you have refused pills. Mary lent me some and I think you might like one or two of them."

"A film would be welcomed distraction. Where's my phone? I need a case from Lestrade. I do not want my brain rotting for a couple of hours watching some useless." Just as Sherlock finished his sentence he swung to his feet and was promptly pushed back to a reclining position by John's strong hand.

"No Sherlock! You will not have a case, you JUST solved one. Can you not rest for a day, your brilliant-better-than-everyone-else's brain will not rot in a mere twenty-four hours. Now you are going to stay on this settee and watch a film. You are going to rest. R-E-S-T. That means no running or pacing or experimenting for the whole entire evening. Now, if you do not pick one then I will. I do not want you complaining the whole way through the film. It really rather annoying having your voice cover the characters with shouts and rants every five minutes.

_"_ _Honestly, it is as if I am trying to reason with a five year old. He is unbelievable! Who knew it would be THIS difficult to get Sherlock to stay still. He is Sherlock and Sherlock is well…Sherlock. He always has to do things the hard way but still, for crying out loud- this man-child is feeling ill and he wants to go chasing after criminals AGAIN._


	6. The Worst: Is it Coming or Is it Over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completed story on Fanfiction under the same username. WIll be moving all works to this site little by little. Please bear with me as it is a bit time-consuming. :(

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Once they went through the whole ordeal of choosing a film and manage to watch a good portion of it before Sherlock felt the need to voice his 'brilliant' deductions.

_Well he could not keep his mouth shut forever, could he? Of course not! He is Sherlock Holmes, the one who has to have the last word always. He will try to outlive God having the last word. That will be the death of him one day. His stubborn pride. Just as the adage says pride before a fall..._

Little by little Sherlock stopped talking and started to pay attention the film. John relished those precious moments of silence and enjoyed the film knowing at any moment those rants would start up again.

Surprisingly those two hours was not as dreadful as John thought it would have been. Usually watching a film was a great task for either of them so they rarely did that. Sherlock had fallen asleep nearing the last quarter of it and slept soundly.

He continued to sleep on the settee until the sun rose the following day. John had not the heart to wake a man so desperate of sufficient rest. Besides Sherlock spent so much time on the settee sometimes in a catatonic state, he figured it must have been just as comfortable as sleeping in a bed.

* * *

Now it was nearing midday and Sherlock had not stirred slightly.

John felt very concerned. The medical training instinctively switched on and was soon examining Sherlock thoroughly with his medical supplies. His body temperature was dangerously high; it was obvious Sherlock felt very cold, flinching at every movement of John's touch. Little tremours escapes his body every time John examines him.

He called out softly to rouse him, "Sherlock. Sherlock. Wake up. You need to get up. I know you haven't slept much recently but you need to get up. I have to look you over and make sure nothing wrong. You have a fever and it is far too high. Dangerously high."

Sherlock stirred slightly at John's touch and moaned. He then slowly became semi-coherent. His eyes were glassy but clearly in pain by his expression causes by his head which seemed to have intensified when he was sleeping.

"My head! John",he rasped. "It hurts! So. Much." Then squeezed his eyes shut and trembling suddenly trying to fight a bolt of pain went through his body when the midday sun flooded into his eyes.

John held a cold cloth over Sherlock's face to ease the tension in his brow, "Relax Sherlock. That will make you feel more comfortable. Breathe slowly. In and out. Slow deep breaths. Yes. Just stay calm. I will go fetch the medication. You must take now it will help with the pain."

John returned with a glass of water and the pills in hand.

"Here Sherlock you need to sit up. Just for a moment until you can take them. Come on. I will help you up."

Supporting the frail man on his arm sent shivers through John. It terrified him, Sherlock was so thin and feeling in distress, he didn't even have the energy to speak a word of protest. With Sherlock holding the pills in one hand and groping for the water glass with the other nearly sent John into an emotional fit.

_His best friend. His only friend was so ill. He was so scared._

"Alright. I'm letting you lay here for a bit longer, if you do not improve within the next hour we are going Saint Bart's. I will have Molly and Mycroft alerted. No protest. I don't want your fever to climb any more than what it already is." John spoke softly.

_No John. Keep it together. You are doctor. Do not show your emotions until you are done being "doctor". Think like Sherlock! Emotions are dangerous._

The next hour dragged on slowly, Sherlock was still shivering even under two duvets and a thick blanket, and the worst was just confirmed with the 'beep' of the thermometer. His fever had gone up.

_Wonderful! Just wonderful! He needs medical attention. A high fever is the perfect medium for many other complications._

"Sherlock. I need you to wake up. We are going to the hospital," he pulled the duvet off him, "Your fever has risen and needs to be treated quickly. I know you're in a lot of pain but I need you to sit up. Mycroft's men are here to transport us to St. Bart's."

Reluctantly Sherlock struggles to pick his torso off the settee falling back into John's arms keeping him propped up.

_Since when did I ever take ill? I hardly succumb to bacterium or virus. What is happening to me? Why am I aching and freezing all over? Where is John? I need John. Why will my head not stop pounding on my brain? It hurts too much to think._

Taking in the surrounding as best he could, Sherlock saw nothing more than a few hazy outlines of figures. He had heard John's voice, with that confirmation of his best friend's presence, Sherlock lapsed back into a catatonic state.

Then John saw something he prayed he'd never have to lay eyes on again. He saw Death. His only friend was not breathing. Those clear blue eyes were staring emptily at the ceiling and his face was nearing the colour of his favourite shirt. An ever so faint pulse confirmed he was still hanging onto life, but Death's murderous hands started to suffocate Life. Death was waiting for the Moment. Not yet, but Death was biding his time to finish what he had planned.

 


	7. Seeking Answers

**Chapter 7**

* * *

With each passing moment John's patience was thinning out, with the mind of a doctor he imagined every possibility that could have brought Sherlock to such a state, to which, did little to calm his poor frazzled nerves. Pacing the floor frantically and running his hands across his face, he jumped internally at each noise hoping it would the doctors coming to update him in Sherlock's condition.

He understood how hospital functioned, the staff worked hard and was through, but that also meant a lot of time was needed to make it so. He could hear a murmur of urgent voices emanating from Sherlock's room, it only increases his state of worry.

_"Sherlock, you better be alright! I will never let this go if you are not! Please. For me, your friend not colleague. Your best friend. Stop this charade! Don't do anything stupid! Stop pulling this trick on me, you said yourself you hardly take ill ever. Why all of a sudden? Why to this degree which lands us in the hospital?" What is wrong with you? What symptoms did I miss, are my observations from a medical standpoint decreasing? he though in his mind burning with fury and concern."_

* * *

Thanks to Mycroft's hand in the matter the Sherlock had a personal room far from the usual hubbub of commotion. Sherlock hated being in crowded places unless it was absolutely necessary- which usually meant something related to The Work that brought him to the busy streets of London. He normally would stay in the flat or head directly to the Yard via cabby, never by Tube...save for that one instance where he came home bloodied from harpooning a pig.

_...well that was tedious..._

* * *

The ride to the hospital was quite stressful for everyone. Sherlock's vitals kept fluctuating constantly which kept the paramedics and John constantly attentive to all the details, especially to Sherlock's breathing.

_"If I ever had to see that sight again, I very well could be next to Sherlock in the back of the ambulance with paramedics hoovering over me too. Out of all the time spent in hospitals and out on the deserts of Afghanistan, a purple-faced Sherlock ranked pretty high on my list of extremely traumatic events. I still don't understand why he lost consciousness. He was responsive when I roused him telling that I was taking him to Saint Bart's. His temperature had climbed despite the medicine I administer for the pain and fever ..."_

At long last the doctor came and discussed the circumstances, Sherlock was stable, just exhausted. John rushed into his room and breathed a sigh of relief.  _Sherlock was alright. He was going to live. Thank God for that!_

 _"Sherlock, how do you feel?",_ John mustered as cheerful as possible hiding his concern. _  
_

"Fine. Perfectly. Fine.", Sherlock slurred and winced slightly at the bright lights flooding into his eyes.

"Really? Fine? Is there any other word you know to describe your state besides 'Fine' because obviously 'Fine' changes meaning far too much. I'll be the judge of exactly how 'fine' you are. Just lay still Sherlock and close your eyes. Care to elaborate this feeling of 'fine'? ", John asked drawing the curtains closed and dimming the lights.

Sherlock crossed his arms and huffed in response, laid there for several minuets with his eyes close before he started to speak, catching John off guard.

"John, why am I here? I take that the doctors have sedated me mildly. My mind is feeling sluggish. I remember you telling me to take some pills and later on I heard a lot of commotion. It was very annoying and difficult for me to concentrate." Sherlock rasped.

_Why did Sherlock have to ask this now? I cannot answer it thought it pains for not being able to do so. I want to know what brought us here too._


	8. No News is Good News, Right?

**Chapter 8**

* * *

_Why did Sherlock have to ask this now? I cannot answer it, though it pains me for not being able to do so. I want to know what brought us here too._

"John, why am I here? People die in hospitals. I thought you liked me. I do not intend to die any time soon. I had always thought my life would be cut short, given my profession, but to die in the near coming future is considered "jumping the gun", don't you think?"

"Sherlock, your flair for sarcasm never ceases even when you're ill. How that is ever so is beyond me!"

Sherlock sniggered softly before responding. "My mind is superior to yours, of course I can function when not feeling up to my normal standards. I take that the doctors have sedated me mildly. My mind is feeling sluggish. I remember you telling me to take some pills and later on I heard a lot of commotion. It was very annoying and difficult for me to concentrate." Sherlock rasped.

"Sherlock, this is not the time to discuss your present condition. You need to regain your strength and let the sedative leave your system. Ok? Try not to do anything rash while I go speak with the doctor.", John spoke quickly.

"Fine.", Sherlock said in a soft but clipped voice. "Do not be away for too long or I might get bored and do something "rash", according to your words.

Returning a couple hours later, John shuffles in to Sherlock's room with a heavy heart. There are time when he wished he was oblivious to the world of medicine. Maybe "ignorance was bliss" in these circumstances…

As soon as John opened the door Sherlock sighed loudly and spoke softly. Though it was obvious the light still pained his head and eyes, Sherlock fought to keep his eyes open thus having the ability for analysing every part of John from head to toe. He needed answers just as much needed them too.

He saw.

He understood perfectly.

"Tell me John. Be direct about it. You have received information that is troubling; no doubt it is about my reasons for lying on this hospital bed. You're hiding information hoping it is wrong, that the doctors are wrong but deep down you know they are not. Your left hand is twitching again uncontrollably. No, it is not from stress-though clearly you are stressed as your appearance is dishevelled- but more so from concern or worry. You know information that is not good to put it mildly. What is it, or are you going to have me deduce it fully?"

John held his hands together in attempt to stop it and just stood in the by door awkwardly looking at the wall with the saddest expression Sherlock had ever seen the doctor wear.

Sherlock's heart sank as he saw the hand tremble even when being held firmly.

_"I thought I had fixed that! Why does his hand still tremble?! I thought I had fixed John. There has to be an answer to everything. Everything is an experiment. Every experiment has answers, 'nothing' is not answer, and rather it is a lack of having and answers. John was full and whole again. His life was transformed to have meaning, more meaning that scraping a meagre existence on an army pension. His limp better not come back! It cannot! That would surely break his spirit. It is psychosomatic, that can be cured. I fixed him. John is happy now. John! What's happened to you? Why are you reverting to your past ways? I am going to be fine, just you wait and see. Soon we will be chasing criminals all across London again- perhaps even chasing cabbies, those are your personal favourite are not they?_

_Why John!? Is the news really that terrible for both of us?_


	9. Times is of Essence

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_Why John!? Is the news really that terrible for both of us?_

Much to Sherlock's relief, John did not limp to the seat by Sherlock's bed. Once seated, Sherlock eyed John once all over again hoping to deduce the exact reasons for this sudden change in behaviour. John remained silent only staring blankly at the whitewashed wall.

" _His expression is sullen and avoiding eye contact. Not waiting to initiate the conversation. Hands clasped tightly together and deep in thought. The hand trembles still. That hand! Why!? I must find a cure for it. It has been cured before; surely it can be cured again."_

"Sherlock", John began quietly using the tone he reserved for when speaking with patients concerning unhappy news.

"I have just returned from speaking with the doctors. It took far longer than expected. I'm pleased that you didn't do anything rash in my absence. He attempted to lighten the ambience, but Sherlock remained stoic in expression. If a tuning fork had been placed in the room, it would have droned deafeningly loud. How is your headache, improved?

"It is within a tolerable range, but I doubt that is of any significance compared to the news you are about to share. Don't beat around the bush, speak now...please. John. I must know. "Sherlock demanded in hushed tones, then closed his eyes and folded his arms across his abdomen waiting. Waiting with a dreadful feeling rising in his mind.

_"Sherlock said "please". Sherlock rarely is polite to people, I am no exception. He surely isn't feeling 'tolerable'. I know I do not have that brilliant mind of Sherlock, however, I know he is lying to me. It is more likely that he has a severe headache, his form is rigid. Even with his eyes close, the slight movement of them make the term 'tolerable' less convincing. He rarely complains, but I do know he hasn't been feeling his best lately. Then, again he does his best to hide almost everything from me concerning his mental or physical health, that stubborn pride of his gets in the way far too much… I hope he takes the news well. I wish the doctors were wrong! He is far too young for this! He is no spring chicken, but this should not have even been a thought at least twenty years from now. Why him of all the human beings on earth!? The pompous fool has been dealt a horrible hand, how I wish I could trade mine with him. If only it were possible, I would do it in a heartbeat. He's my best friend. My only true friend. "_

John did his best to deliver the poison as gently as could be expected.

Sherlock drew a sharp breath and remained expressionless. John wondered if there would be anything to be said that would appease the man. No, nothing at all would change the facts. The cold hard truth can be hidden beneath a mound of sweet and wonderful things, but that would not change the nature of the news.

"John. How long? I need to know. Time is very important to me now.", he said staring at the plain white ceiling.

"I don't know Sherlock. I wish I could give you an estimate. I truly don't know. I...I...am sorry Sherlock. Really. I am. Just recover your strength first, and then we'll climb this mountain together."

"I know John. I know. Go. Eat and rest. I will not go anywhere. I need to be in my Mind Palace."

Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.


	10. Yorrick and John

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.

Silently entering the flat John trudged his way up the squeaky stairs, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The time spent at the hospital sucked out all his energy. As Sherlock's brilliant brain deduced, his hand trembled still. Sigh. He knew Sherlock would have seen it, even if his hands had been hidden in his pockets. Another sad sigh escaped him.

_"This is terrible! Very 'not good'. I need to tell Mrs. Hudson soon. Not now, but soon. I dread to know how she will take the news. She's too kind to us both, putting up with our antics at all hours of the night. This will surely do her in. "_

Finally after several attempts, John had a hot cup of earl grey in one hand, and a bag of ice chips in the other. Plopping into his chair, he placed the injured hand on the ice. Examining the burns with more scrutiny, it turned out that it was not as bad as it looked. A bit red and swollen, but it would go away soon, he noted.

_"Steam burns hurt more than the scalding water, and I managed to burn myself with both, well am I not creative?! Apparently I cannot make tea without burning myself…how useful I have become in these recent hours. These tremours are such a nuisance; I thought Sherlock made it go away? I am grateful for his cure to my hand. At our first meeting, Mycroft captured me and deduced the reasons for those involuntary movements, but after a short while with Sherlock, it went away. Why is it back now? Yes I know, I know….I am worried, but "not stressed", according to the brilliance of Sherlock's deductions. Maybe it is subconscious mentality?_

The turn of the tide exhausted John emotionally and physically, his tired gaze rested on that hideous skull collecting dust on the mantle. God forbid if anyone touches the skull, save for his master alone. May he never see the wrath of Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson took it away once, and...well she never so much as went near the hearth for a very long time. He had quite a fit when it was missing, but seemed slightly subdued after it was firmly establish that dear, sweet 'not your housekeeper' Mrs. Hudson had taken it, and not Me!  _Yes, definitely feeling the lack of mutual trust right here, thanks Sherlock…honestly, why on earth would I want a skull? What would I do with it? Act out Hamlet? Name him Yorrick? Seriously Sherlock! You must think better of me than randomly taking your things just for the fun of it._

He felt rather foolish for acting like Sherlock, but decided to try it anyway; perhaps Sherlock's strange habits were starting to rub off on him. He talked to the skull out loud; maybe there was a reason why Sherlock kept the skull around…It was a good feeling to talk to someone, even if that someone was not alive. To use it as a sound board might not be so bad after all, as long as my neighbours do not see me. They might think me as a crazy old man, John reasoned with himself. As John spoke to the skull, he strode over to the window and suck a glance outside, checking if anyone within a reasonable distance. No one was near the flat. Thank goodness for that at least!

_Ugh! I feel like a fool talking to you! Great losing my mind while I am at it. No one better be watching me lose my mind or I will never hear the end of it. You are a thing! A skull! You're dead and cannot respond. What is wrong with me!?So help me Hamlet! If I am going to talk to you then you are going to need a name, I cannot keep calling you "skull" or "you". It does not seem too polite, and it could become confusing. I am far from creative with names, you will be called Yorrick. I know. How original! Don't laugh at me skull, I mean Yorrick! You don't have a say, wait you cannot have a say. You cannot speak. Good grief! I need to stop now before I lose it even more._

He paused to catch his breath, and sip his tea before he absent-mindedly continued his soliloquy.

_Oh! I just thought about it. Mycroft! Oh my! Mycroft has the whole place bugged with cameras. Great! Now I know I will never hear an end to this. Perhaps I can reason with him to NEVER under ANY circumstance show this video unless I agree to it. Who knows what it would do to Sherlock's inflated head- burst from too much hot air?_

He let out a small chuckle at the thought. That six foot tall man-child was certainly a character of personalities all to his own. For shame, that man-child sometimes threw tantrums worse than several two years olds together.  _Really Sherlock, you are in your thirties or early forties. You are not TWO years old!_ He never would give his exact age, only mumbled something about wanting to be mysterious.

Unexpectedly, he succumbed to another wave of sadness. He sunk back in his chair, cupping his face in the palm of his hands, willing himself not to cry.

_You...you...are too young. Way too young for this?! Even I am too young for this, let alone you! Oh gosh! Why does it have to be this way?_


	11. His Mind Palace

**Chapter 11**

* * *

As John left, he called in the doctor to speak with Sherlock; he could not do it himself. It hurt him too much, this was too personal. John had given more than his fair share of depressing diagnoses to patients; it was time for the doctor to give his. Sherlock's doctor was middle-aged, but due to the stress of the profession he looked at least five times older. He was a widower with three children, clearly obvious given the status of his wedding band, speech patterns and disposition. He was intelligent and got straight to the point, didn't make an effort for small talk. Sherlock appreciated that; he loathed small talk claiming it "made for too much stupid in the room." During the diagnosis, a stoic expression remained on the consulting detective's face. It was a face he used many times in countless situations, but for a reason unknown to his brilliant mind, he had a hard time keeping his composure together underneath that mask.

_"Wandering through the corridors of his Mind Palace he sought answers in a room labelled "Cases". What is this 'condition' the doctor told me about? I have heard of it vaguely before, somewhere along a case…must not have been important since I deleted it. But, wait...portions of that case are coming back to me now. It was a "Christmas Murder" type case…solved in 3 days…something about the victims having limited sight and hearing, and the attacker knew that ahead of time so used it to his advantage. Oh, yes...He waited until the lights were dimmed and wore slippers to cover the sound of his heels clicking on the tile. The victims did not stand a chance. For any ordinary person, the victims' death would have seemed to be 'ordinary'. However, there was more than meets the eye because the corpses were found in a particular position; it was clearly obvious that those had no peripheral vision. One victim could not see out of the corner in his left eye, but was deaf in his right. Head cocked left and left eye staring strangely, much unfocused….but there is an adjoining room with more information….no...No. Not about cases and victims. It was a small closet labelled "Sherlock's Health" It is about me! Think Sherlock! This IS important. What is 'it'?"_

Sherlock stared at the ceiling trying to remember what it was exactly. He knew it was something important, but had deleted it, deeming it not worthy of remembering.

Then he bolted up into a sitting position, instantly regretting that decision, for it sent another wave of dizziness to him. Huffing out an annoyed sigh, he resigned himself to reclining on his back perfectly still recalling the memory precisely. So there had been a reason for deleting this particular bit of information, it was about his family and their health. The curse of genetics had dealt him a horrible hand. Yes, the reason for storing it in the farthest room of in the enormous palace.

_Of course Mycroft never bothered with it, but why should he?! He has nothing to be concerned of! He's not the one with the Sword of Damocles looming over his head. I am! Now I understand the Greek legend so much more. How conveniently I had forgotten about it until now. Come back to bite me, I guess. I do not deserve it! I loathe it.  
_

He fought hard to keep his barriers up and not let a tear fall down that sullen face. With that dismal thought, Sherlock realised how grave the situation would turn out to be. His invincible walls were shattered. A flood of tears poured out from that trembling body, enough tears stored for a lifetime streamed into the pillow. There was nothing worse than this. This was it. This was the end. Life as Sherlock knew it ended the moment the doctor opened his mouth to confirm the fears he buried in the dungeon of his Mind Palace.

_"I might as well be dead, would have been a better choice than this. Nothing more could come from it. I know that my health was not as it used to be...well that would be expected with the profession. It was taxing on the mind and body, especially when it came to apprehending criminals, since the oh so magnificent Scotland Yard could not so much as keep the peace in the office, much less so about London. Especially not with Anderson around, he has zero intelligence Maybe that is why the Yard is so inept? He brings down the IQ of the whole place? Gosh Anderson! You're such a dim-bulb, I am honestly flabbergasted that you are in this field of work and can actually maintain a position here, unless Donovan had a hand in keeping you from being fired by the Chief Superintendent Ugh! Sally Donovan! You are no better than Anderson, forever pointing out the obvious. You are the 'Freak'. Any blind man could see twice as better than the lot of you two idiots!"_

The intricacies of his mind slammed in to a brick wall. For a full moment he was astounded of his own words.

_"What on earth did I just say? Where did that come from, left field? The sky? Sight is precious, all the senses are precious, but without sight how will I complete The Work?! The work! Details are the key to solving every case. Without my sight, what is there left for me? Nothing. I am useless. My brain will rot and I will be forced to die a slow and painful death unless..."  
_

For the next few hours, Sherlock shouted indecent adjectives at his condition. He had hoped that by forgetting, it would never show itself, but sadly biology is partial and always manifests itself in some form. Those years of skipping visits to the optometrist because of countless cases had come to haunt him now. He wished that he had more male siblings, though such a cruel wish he knew it was, but couldn't help feel that way. At least it would be a one-fourth chance in having the autosomal recessive retinal disorder gene that led to macular degeneration. It wouldn't be half as terrible if he had been twice his present age, but no, of course not, the evil Genetics decide to bring about the curse at least two decades earlier. A curse meant for Sherlock when he was well 'over the hill'. Oh how the curse danced in his face, he could almost feel the hand of Genetics sniping at his vision. One by one, with each strand cut led closer to the world of black nothingness. Helas, he had 'it'. The bad one. The cursed one. The evil one. Mycroft had the good one. The fortunate one. He hated Mycroft! IT IS NOT FAIR!

With absolutely nothing to do except sulk in a pool of misery in his Mind Palace, he resorted to his anchor.

He called John.

He needed him more so now than ever.

John was his stronghold.

_"John."_

_"Hello Sherlock, how do you feel?"_

_"Fine...could you come...please?"_

_"Yes Sherlock. I'll be there in ten minuets."_

_"Thank you, John"_

As he rung off, John realised that Sherlock was most likely very shaken by the news. He said 'please' and 'thank you', those words only came out in times of distress and despair. John felt sad for Sherlock, but he couldn't afford to lose his composure in front of his best friend. He downed the last sip of his third cuppa and headed toward the hospital.


	12. The Dreadful History

**Chapter 12**

* * *

During their infancy, Mrs. Holmes noticed a stark contrast between her sons. It was not so much age, as it was behaviour and personality. Mycroft excelled in school, but Sherlock came home bloodied from fist fights at least once a week. All effort to calm her youngest one from violence were to no avail. It wasn't that Sherlock went around picking fights, more so it was the other pupils would start the brawls with a snide comment about Sherlock's intellect. He would merely finish what they started, those Battles of Wits rapidly dissolved into punches. It didn't take a mind like Sherlock's to deduce a fight would always tag after a round of taunts and insults.

Sherlock believed he had the upper hand with his "superior intellect", and beat up those bullies, which in turn only led to a new round of meaner bullies, and more fights. It was the "superior intellect" that got him in trouble, he didn't quite master the art of ignoring others. He couldn't resist not proving he was right, always right. He had to be right, even if proving wrong was right.

In retrospect those fist fights might have proven slightly beneficial in the long run, but only slightly. Given the number of fights Sherlock regularly engaged in, he found himself on the examination table for a black eye or treating a broken body part frequently. It was during those visits that the Holmes family discovered the dreadful news.

Sherlock never once mention his troubled vision. He thought it was not necessary, and would simply dismissed it as after effects of the countless fist fights. Once, Mycroft saw his little brother walk straight into a table tripping over a stack of books in the process in broad daylight, not taking heed of the objects until he plowed straight into them. A nasty bruise resulted from that experience. After witnessing a similar occurrence again, he brought the matter to his parents, they in turn took their sons to the doctor. Mycroft was worried for his little brother. He did love him dearly though found it hard to express it. Emotions weren't his forte.

The doctors spoke at great lengths with the parents alone assuring them the symptoms would not manifest themselves until Sherlock had reached adulthood. It was the nature of the disease, an age-related one.

Juvenile macular degeneration.

It was an earth-shattering diagnosis. Little by little Sherlock's world would turn into a void of darkness. Something that made even the blackest starless night seem brighter than an eclipse.

A dastardly and vile and horrid and dreadful and repulsive and down-right terrifying word. Simply put JMD was worse than a death sentence in the mind of ten-year old Sherlock.

The genetic testing had confirmed all the doctors' suspicions, molecular biology cannot lie. Much to the family's horror also came the shattering new of 'no cure just treating symptoms'.

That one visit single-handedly shattered the young boy's dreams of becoming a pirate and battling on the wild seas. What used would come from a blind pirate? None at all.

This Curse, as Sherlock called it, was banished to the dungeon of his Mind Palace from that day forward. Not a second thought was given to it once the shock of the diagnosis wore off...not until today.

Helas, there was no escaping something that was engraved in his essence. For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt lost and scared to the point of not knowing what to think.


	13. All is Well?

* * *

_He downed the last sip of his third cuppa and headed toward the hospital._

* * *

Before John left for the hospital, Mrs. Hudson was informed briefly what had occurred and not to worry about it. John would never lie to the dear sweet landlady, but he couldn't afford her to worry constantly about them. She did that enough already, no need to add any extra.

"Sherlock is resting and would welcome visit tomorrow at the visiting hours. Don't worry he'll be fine", he said with a calmness in his voice still cradling the tear-stained landlady. It shocked him to realise how calm he was able to give the information, but have such a panicked uneasy feeling rising in his stomach at the same time.

_"Of all the people in the world to lose their sight it_ _had_ _to be Sherlock. Just wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair, everyone knew that. Why was it so hard to accept though?"_

* * *

Sherlock never slept unless absolutely necessary. John knew Sherlock wasn't asleep, but still tried to make minimal noise entering the room. He didn't want to disturb Sherlock's mind palace. Having spoken with the doctors again, John understood more of what was to come for the condition and changes that needed to happen. Heaving a soft sigh, John braced himself mentally for the conversation about to take place.

In a forced cheerful tone John dared to speak, "Hey there, Sherlock. How do you feel?"

"Fine." Sherlock hissed in a flat tone.

"Why did I even bother ask?"

Clearly John was exasperated from the answer he heard, but pressed the issue a little more.

As it happened to be, thankfully, Sherlock's bout of fever and loosing unconsciousness was quickly remedied with sufficient nutrients and supplements.

However, that was the lesser of the two evils.

John stared at Sherlock taking note of every subtle expression and movement hoping to gain some insight on Sherlock's feelings of the news.

John noted nothing.

Nothing probably meant Sherlock had a row with it during his absence expressing all possible his thoughts and emotions about the disease, thus felt Nothing now. John knew his mind wasn't as sharp as his companion's when it came to deducing people, but it was clear as day that Nothing meant Everything. No emotions shown about the future condition was a strong indication of an internal battle in Sherlock's mind fighting against the negative feelings it would bring.

"Sherlock will you tell me how you feel? Don't say fine. You have an extensive and elaborate vernacular so pick some other words to describe yourself", John pleaded to his friend

"If you insist on it. You're smart John. Clever actually. Rather clever. As a doctor surely you've heard of this condition before. You think. Do YOU think I'm fine? Did you REALLY have to ask? Have you thought about what happens now?" Sherlock retorted with a bit too much force than he had anticipated. He could see John wince as though being struck with those sharp words.

"Yes, I know the condition and thought about what is to come Sherlock, that's WHY I'm asking how you feel about it. I want to understand and help you. I know you're upset about it. I am too. The hospital is allowing you to return home today on the condition that you return regularly so that they may monitor the condition and treat as necessary." John informed the pouting consulting detective.

Eyeing his flatmate from head to toe sceptically waiting for a setback to what both the hospital and John mandated Sherlock said, "Finally! I can leave this dull and boring place. If I agree to the condition will you promise to let me handle everything the way I want to?"

"If you insist on it Sherlock." John said closing the discussion.

* * *

Soon all was back to normal, well, relatively speaking normal with the given circumstances. Sherlock continued his work solving cases with Scotland Yard whilst John blogged about them. John hoped that time would be kind to them, especially for Sherlock's sake and not bring about the horrid reality.

Right?


	14. Continuing On

**Chapter 14**

* * *

_Soon all was back to normal, well, relatively speaking normal with the circumstances. Sherlock continued his work solving cases with Scotland Yard whilst John blogged about them. John hoped that time would be kind to them, especially for Sherlock's sake and not bring about the horrid reality._

Not one day passed without John or Sherlock thinking about the future. No matter how bleak or dreary it appeared to be those two managed to find a silver lining, John was the more optimistic one though, obviously. He couldn't bear to see his best mate falling into such a depressed state. Solving cases brought the best out of Sherlock, rambling deductions at lightning speed, bounding from one spot to the next adsorbing every detail.

Most importantly it made Sherlock laugh, a real and genuine heartfelt laugh. Not a sarcastic scoff or forced giggle, it was the kind of laughter that made others to join it. John felt happiest then, there were times often where he could have had almost forgotten about that dreaded day where everything would plunge down the steep slope into a void of devoid of all colour.

Sherlock fed off the energy given from chasing criminals and solving murders, how exactly one would feel such a pleasure from that type of activity was lost to John. He didn't care about it though, what mattered most was Sherlock's well-being.

It was an unexplainable relationship John and Sherlock had. It was a platonic relationship and only ever as such. Only by the ignorance of an idiot, to quote Sherlock, one would even entertain the slightest notion John and Sherlock fancied each other. John absolutely hated when others gossiped about since  _"it does matter what other people think_ " of him.

_Sherlock is my best mate. He always will be. I knew absolutely nothing about him, not even his name, and there I was about to share a flat with this strangers. That night I killed a man to save his life. A man I barely knew for a day. This mutual feeling of security is something that will only grow stronger. My Mary understands, she's is far too kind. Sherlock has even praised and act in a gentlemanly manner toward her. Coming from him, that means Mary holds a great deal of value to him._

Sherlock was pacing around to room trying to crack the latest murder case with a mysterious weapon and locked doors. Nothing ever baffled Sherlock for long, but this particular one was turning his brains in circles with no understanding of how it the victims died. Even the idea of 'the victim could have done it' didn't fit the evidence. Pacing about the room from dawn to dusk refusing to eat a proper meal did little to help his body not mind, but Sherlock couldn't be persuaded to take more than just a cuppa here and there.

Sometimes John hated Sherlock for being so stubborn, it wouldn't hurt anyone to just eat a proper meal and sleep a sufficient amount at least thrice a week. Thrice a week might have seemed like an odd deal, but with Sherlock anything and everything is odd. After much 'lively discussion' and several 'storming out of the flats' later (mostly coming from only John though) the two men finally reached an agreement. Sherlock would limit himself on how many cups of tea or coffee he had, and would eat a sandwich (or something like that) at least twice during the day, every single day even if they were in the middle of a case.

By any simple deduction from anyone, it was clear as glass that malnutrition was hurting Sherlock. He kept rubbing his eyes and massaging his temples. However, John was not 'just anyone'; he knew more and those signs were not comforting to say the least. John kept strict watch on Sherlock's condition and kept a mental log of the changes.

"Stop treating me like a child, I can take care of thing by myself!" Sherlock would bellow loudly to John towering over the lanky detective sprawled out shamefully across the sofa.

John responded in a milder form of yelling , trying not to wake up Mrs. Hudson in the wee hours of the morning, "Stop shouting, and don't wake Mrs. Hudson. No! You can't! You don't even eat and sleep like a normal human being, you aren't immortal Sherlock. Just stop fighting me, I want to help you, but first you have to listen to what I say and what the doctor's say. Please, just listen and do accordingly."

"John, there is no point in me changing my behaviour now; this condition was set the moment I was conceived. If I wanted to help myself, I should have or rather, would have, done so decades ago. The latest visit to the doctor's calculated that it will only be a short time, perhaps several months at best. You were there at the visit, you heard him say it." Sherlock retorted softer than before, remembering the sun hasn't risen yet.

* * *

_There is no use in changing or trying. John is wrong; nothing I do will change the future of my life. Time is running out. It's like sitting in the ocean on a board watching the wave come in. Closer and closer and closer…until finally it pulls your under._


	15. I See the Light

**Chapter 15**

* * *

"John, there is no point in me changing my behaviour now; this condition was set the moment I was conceived. If I wanted to help myself, I should have or rather, would have, done so decades ago. The latest visit to the doctor's calculated that it will only be a short time, perhaps several months at best. You were there at the visit, you heard him say it." Sherlock retorted softer than before, remembering the sun hasn't risen yet.

How painfully true Sherlock's words were to John, but he could not and would not accept this behaviour from his best mate. Regardless of having the power to change Sherlock's condition or not, John made his determination on Sherlock's health. If nothing else, food gives nutrients to the body which is essential to live.

"Riding a wave and suddenly getting pulled under with no way to surface...", Sherlock's mind was trapped in a loop at that thought. "There was no way out. Wrong! There has to be. This can't be happening to me. Despite what the doctors and lab results say, it is WRONG!"

John was aware of the psychological reasoning of patients with terminal illnesses. Denial was the first stage, refusing to believe the situation is permanent no matter how much evidence is provided. It was a mandatory psychology course taken in his early years training for the profession, after all it was people he would be dealing with. Doctors has to understand both mental and physical aspects of the human brain since the two parts relied on each other. Sherlock's condition was not terminal, but it was a drastic change in lifestyle for one who relied heavily on sight especially for The Work. John could only guess what Sherlock must have been feeling when the reality of the situation came crashing down on the detective, literally.

* * *

The last rays of sunlight came seeping through the curtains casting shades of deep red and orange on the furniture in the sitting room. Sherlock was once again in deep thought trying to find the missing link for their latest multiple murder case, he didn't realise his carelessness of tossing papers and photographs all across the floor and furniture had set a hazardous situation for him. Soon the night sky would be laced with sparkling stars and the bright blue moon, even with that kind of light it just didn't even come close to the power sunlight had. He looked up from studying the photograph and glanced out the window, night had fallen. London glistened like the sun amongst the darkness.

Sentimental aspects were never a large part in Sherlock's mind, but somehow the stars were slightly less sparkling than the previous night he thought. He was never keen to know much about the solar system deeming it as irrelevant; however, Sherlock found himself humbled by the natural world especially since he understood basics of science regarding astronomy rather than just feel drawn to stars in their ability to decorating the night sky. The sheer power in each star was outstanding, something humans always felt a longing to explore, the mystical land of the galaxy and beyond.

Returning his thoughts to earth, Sherlock wanted to solve the case before the sun rose. He made his way across the dimly lit room by moonlight to flip the lights on, but just before he reached the wall he lost his balance sliding on a photograph. Flailing his arms wildly trying to right himself only caused more trouble as his arm knocked into the table sending his flesh-eating bacterium experiment residing on a dinner plate flying across the room toppling a stack of old case files. Sherlock screeched in pain as his body came crashing down on a lump of chemistry books thrown in a pile next to his chair. Biting his tongue stopping the choice words from coming out, he heard John throw his duvet aside and head down the stairs mumbling something about dangerous experiments and blowing up the flat AGAIN...

_What a mess the flat is now, what will John say about it? He always complaining about feeling like a mum, doing house work keeping the place as decent as possible. What will he think of me, here lying atop a stack of book in the middle of what I can only imagine as the after effects of a tornado. I can just hear him now in that scornful voice saying "I told you so Sherlock! Why won't you ever listen to me...?" Actually I do listen to you John, just not all the time unless you're life is in danger then I always do._


	16. I'm Helping You. Leave Me!

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Sherlock stood up keeping the heel of his foot resting against pile of books, and ignoring the pain from the fall. Thinking he didn't have any dignity left in the situation decided just waited for John to entre the room. Stepping off the last step John still screaming warnings and threats at his unruly flat mate anxious to know the extend of damage the genius had inflicted on the room, "Sherlock Holmes! What in the world have you done this time? How many times have I said NOT to conduct dangerous or explosive experiments at the flat?" With Sherlock some things just never made it to the brain, as the expression ran "in one ear and out the other", he automatically filtered out John's hysterics and instead went to his mind palace- a place where he truly felt comforted no matter the circumstances.

John's voice slowly died down like a ticking clock running out of battery life, "You're not even...listening...to...me..." Sherlock opened his eyes and saw a faint silhouette of his flatmate standing the door way gaping at the shape the sitting room had turned into. After straightening his jacket, he attempted to describe why the room looked like the masterpiece of a tornado, carefully avoiding any mention of lighting issues, "I see you've noticed the room. Never mind the mess, I'm working on a case. The papers will be gone when I'm finished. Besides, I think there are more important matters to concern yourself with John. No doubt you woke Mrs. Hudson with the awful screeching at the top of your voice from the highest floor, mind you. It wouldn't surprise me if she came right up here now angry for waking her again."

"Sherlock", John said softly and slowly, "Mrs. Hudson is here standing off at my side." He made no response, but at once Sherlock's expression flinched ever so slightly searching for Mrs. Hudson's silhouette. John continued, "Actually it wasn't my fault, just so you know. Not everything is my fault. If something goes wrong, don't always blame me. Ok?" A curt nod was all John managed out of Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson bid the two goodnight and excused herself realising Sherlock was in the capable hand of the doctor. John would help Sherlock, he always did.

Once Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat, John strode over in one fluid movement to turn on the light emanated from the room so brightly Sherlock's eyes felt as if they were looking into the centre of the sun, burning with pain.

"Turn it off John!" he bellowed whilst bring up a hand to shield his face.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. Here, follow me to your seat. Just sit here and I'll make a quick cuppa then we can talk." John guided a reluctant consulting detective to his chair and left him to be. It certainly wasn't going to be an easy discussion, and any sort of discussion with Sherlock was always hard. He felt so powerless against everything. Doctor's were suppose to help and heal...

After pressing a steaming cup into his flatmate's hand John took a seat and heaved a sigh.

"Sherlock, we have to talk about it. I know you don't like it, and frankly I don't either, but we can't put it off any longer," John began.

"No John. There is nothing to discuss. We both know what it going to happen to me. I. Am. Going. Blind! I know there is Nothing I can do about it, therefore Nothing for us to discuss!" Sherlock finished comment with a sip of tea.

John was undeterred despite the overall mood of the conversation, "That's the point Sherlock, we know what to expect so that way we can prepare for it. Don't write yourself off as hopeless. You're not Sherlock. Not one bit. Like tonight for instance, care to elaborate on what happened? To make sure it won't happen again. I promise to help you Sherlock. Always."

"You're in denial John. Don't scoff at me. You know I'm right," Sherlock dead-panned. "You refuse to accept the facts. Just leave me! I don't want your help. Why do you bother with all of this?" Sherlock gestured to himself and the mess in the room. "Can't you figure it out yourself?! Unlike me, YOU have eyes, YOU can see perfectly. You tell me, better get use to it because you'll doing it a lot if you say you'll not leave me." Sherlock finished his outburst and curled up in the chair burying his head like an ostrich immediately regretting his words.

_He hadn't meant to shout at John, it just slipped out of the cracks in his emotional barrier. He truthfully wanted his flatmate to stay, but staying would only make matters worse for them both. He didn't want John to live his life for him. He had his own life to live with Mary, soon the two would marry. Don't put off what can be done today for tomorrow. John would have to go. Mycroft would help John find a new place and make any arrangements necessary, he would hound his brother dearest until he was satisfied with the new situation John would be in. Making him leave was Sherlock's was of showing he cared. End of discussion. John would have to go by the end of the week._

_I'm helping you John, so you're leaving. It's for the best.  
_

Mildly stunned and stabbed to the heart with the words he heard John sipped his tea contemplating how best to respond. Whether Sherlock believed it or not he was the one in denial, not John. Some time had passed since the initial diagnosis, but time did not matter in cases like these.  _Sentimental or pessimistic thoughts and angry outbursts were not limited to a set number or weeks or months. Anger carried on through all five stages. Denial was considered the hardest emotion to get past. After Denial came Anger and Bargaining, "What if I did it didn't do this then...If only I could ...Just one more chance I would...I would give anything to..." These perhaps were the saddest words known to humans after "Why?!"_

Heaving a sad sigh he squeezed His flatmates hand gently. "Sherlock. Please don't do this. I know this is very difficult adjusting. I knew what happened the moment I stepped into the doorway. I am so very sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop this. Sherlock, please don't shut me out. I want to help you." John continued softly reassuring Sherlock he would never leave, and would always be there to help him. To never let him fall again.

"I'm fine John. Not even a scratch. Don't get emotional, it doesn't suit you well. It was just a fall, I've had worse." Sherlock stated plainly as he started collecting the papers scattering the floor. "I appreciate the concern, but it is not needed. I must manage on my own whilst I still have some sight left. You won't be here at my side every waking moment. Go back to bed. I'm more than capable of cleaning up the flat now that it is properly illuminated."

John tried to suppress a laugh, but failed. "You? Capable of cleaning a flat all by yourself? Highly doubtful as you can't be bothered with keep anything nice and orderly, except for your suits and dress shirts. John commented fining a hand toward Sherlock's wrinkle free jacket. "I can't sleep now. I'm staying, I want to see you clean the flat. This will be interesting."

 


	17. Still Working

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_John tried to suppress a laugh, but failed. "You? Capable of cleaning a flat all by yourself? Highly doubtful as you can't be bothered with keep anything nice and orderly, except for your suits and dress shirts. John commented flinging a hand toward Sherlock's wrinkle free jacket. "I can't sleep now. I'm staying, I want to see you clean the flat. This will be interesting."_

* * *

"I am NEVER doing this again! Cleaning is SO BORING! My brain is going to explode from stupidity!" Sherlock whined constantly as he collected the scattered papers and straightened the room back to a decent state. "My brain is rotting, becoming so dull and filled with menial information. There are more important things to keep inside my brain, such as identifying forty-two different ash types simply by smell. Or knowing how to read a person's whole life story just by the way he signs his name. THOSE are important AND useful information, 'how to clean a room' is ABSOLUTELY USELESS!" Sherlock rambled on and on pointing out every single reason under the sun why he would never be caught cleaning the flat ever again.

John, as he always was, patiently listened and threw in an occasional remark on how he should have kept the flat neat in the first place, instead of waiting for the mess to pile up and having so much to do all at once.

"It's really your fault, Sherlock. Most of this isn't even mine. Who would even bother care about ash types besides you? That is what I call ABSOLUTELY USELESS." John retorted playfully to a scowling Sherlock busy re-shelving the books he fell on top of earlier. "You should be more neat, then you'll know where to find things. As a bonus you don't have to ask me to fetching for you. Which, by the way, I am not your dog nor servant. I have a life besides getting YOUR mobile out of YOUR own jacket pocket because you're too lazy to do it yourself." John finished with a humph.

Of all the annoying habits his flatmate had, being a personal servant to Sherlock was his least favourite. That man was beyond lazy, just absolutely worse than a lump on a log at times.  _Ugh! Where were this man's manners? Didn't his mum and dad teach him basic etiquette of doing things by themselves instead of enslaving others? What happened to living by Golden Rule? I suppose he could never be bothered to remember such "useless" information._

Their childish bantering continued until the first rays of light started to decorate the wooden floor, of which was actually visible thanks to the work of the two men slaving away tidying their flat.

"Finally done!" John said as he collapsed into his chair begging the consulting detective, "I'm shattered from all this. Please don't drag me out on a case Sherlock. Please! I need to rest. Just a couple of hours. I know I said I wanted to watch you clean, but I couldn't let you do it all alone."

"What?! Johnnn!" Sherlock whined dragging out his flatmate's name into many syllables. Feeling wide awake and refreshed despite staying up all night doing menial work Sherlock would not accept John's logical request. "No! I solved the case just all the chaos happened. We HAVE to tell Lestrade now, AND go catch the criminal. I know where they will be meeting to plan their next strike. We must catch them or it'll create a larger mess with more people dead."

John just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"As if I'm ever going to win any argument with my crazy flatmate. Simply never going to happen," John thought as he went to changed into fresh clothes and downed a lukewarm cup waiting for Sherlock to finish straightening his appearance.

* * *

Sherlock was always one for the dramatic acts, and having on a Belstaff certainly gave any entrance the extra flair. He strode into New Scotland Yard barging right past everyone, and headed straight into Lestrade's room without even knocking.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock boomed scaring the sleep-walking John to full consciousness. Disrupting John's semi-rest earned the over-eager consulting detective a hard elbow jab in the side. A murderous scowl covered the beanpole's face, but the shorter man just shrugged to say, "Your fault. Use your manners. Don't scream at people who are half asleep."

"Could you at least knock instead of bellowing at the top of your lungs? It's far too early for such antics." Even after working with the consulting detective for several years, the aged-detective was never going to be used to that man's odd behaviour. "Well aren't you two bright-eyed bushy tailed bunch this morning," he continued in good humour taking note of John leaning against the wall clearly angry with the wild-man for obvious reasons. John just rolled his eyes and sighed in disgust with the whole situation.

After four more cups of coffee both John and Lestrade felt at least half way up to speed with Sherlock. How that man managed to function on an empty stomach and only a few hours rest habitually puzzled John. Somehow they magically appeared at the location the criminals would strike next, but they were a bit late for the criminals had already started their dirty work throwing the Scotland Yard officers into a scramble trying to contain the situation.

Sherlock at once raced after the leader, "Larry" who was desperately trying to escape with vital information, chasing him in circles around the building's first floor. "Should have picked a different place to meet or at least the ground floor...idiot...you're trapped since there's one way in and one way out." the consulting detective mumbled to himself in hot pursuit.

John, on the other hand, was busy in a fist fight with two men who were both twice his stature. The three struggled for the dominance, but John's military training soon overpowered their attacks. They were no match for him. Fist fighting was one matter, however, fist fighting one who's been trained is completely different. John easy pinned them down on.

Despite being chained to each other and feeling the heat of the cold guns trained on them, "Curly" and "Moe" worked unsuccessfully at unchaining themselves. Leaving the two buffoons in the capable hands of Scotland Yard, John ran off searching for his best mate hoping he hadn't done anything stupid yet. With Sherlock Holmes, one never knows what to expect...John learned that real fast.

"Sherlock! Where are you?"

Receiving no response John quickened his pace running through the rooms.


	18. Will Working Always Be This Dangerous?

**Chapter 18**

* * *

_Leaving the two buffoons in the capable hands of Scotland Yard, John ran off searching for his best mate hoping he hadn't done anything stupid yet. With Sherlock Holmes, one never knows what to expect...John learned that real fast._

* * *

"Sherlock! Where are you?" Receiving no response John quickened his pace running through the rooms.

Silence in Sherlock's stead answered.

At last, a faint noise seemed to be emanating from the last room of the corridor that John's good hearing detected. It was too soft to recognise clearly what exactly it was, but it sounded like two voice the closer the doctor headed toward it. The lower pitches vibrated through the walls, but with the higher pitches it was easier to understand those chilling words.

"So...what now? It's not like ya can do anyfing to me! No one knows nuffing about dis place. Took me awhile ta find ah deserted place wiv 'ittle lightin' and no windas. Nobody gonna hear you scream when dis bullet goes straigh frew ya 'eart..."

"No," The deeper voice responded evenly without a trace of emotion. "People will hear my scream, and I can assure you it won't be just anyone. It will be The One. You wouldn't want to upset him, now would you? I'd imagine there's a rather large price over your head should you fail. He's not one to be trifled with. Besides, you're wrong-very wrong. There a lot of things I can and will do to you starting with..."

The arrhythmia was so strong John could hear it resonating in his ears. Creeping up to the place Sherlock and 'Larry' were located; he peered slightly into the room stealing a glance. He bit his tongue to keep from making any unwanted words spill out; the doctor's temper grew hot.

_No one threatens my best friend under any circumstances, and especially not when the odd are unfairly stacked against him._

Larry was sitting at one end of the long table and Sherlock at the other in a dimly lit windowless room. A stack of valuable information and a loaded gun pinning it down was in the middle of the two men. The gun seemed to shine like a polished onyx stone when the torch's light flickered on the table, otherwise Larry was waving it around as it if he were a flame spinner at the circus. John saw red. If he didn't do something quick he might have a dead best friend and/or a dead criminal. Neither option seemed terribly appealing.

"Don't ya move ah muscle or 'ave ya forgotten. Ah 'ave anufer gun in me 'and," the smaller man threatened.

John was in the perfect position to see both Sherlock and the gang leader. Larry hands quivered slightly under Sherlock death glare. Neither men spoke a sound; Larry tried to intensify his own expression to mirror Sherlock's. He simply couldn't.

"Stop glaring at me like that! It's creepy. You look deranged!"

Brushing off the gunman's comments, Sherlock furrowed his brow even more keeping his eyes focus on that torch's light. This was the point John was waiting for, Larry was starting to buckle under the pressure.

"Drop your gun!" John ordered in his captain's voice now with his presence towering in the doorway. John was a far cry from being called a tall man, but when challenged his height seemed to grow. "I will not repeat myself. Do as I say immediately." John threatened him.

Larry dropped his torch on the hard cold floor before John finished his sentence. "Sorreh, did you say "drop your gun"? Ah fought ah 'eard you say "torch". Ma bad. Gotta blame me old ears." Larry asked feigning confusion.

"Don't give me that rubbish. You heard me perfectly. Now. For the final time. Drop. Your. Gun." John's scowl made Sherlock's glare look like a joke.

With a smirk on his face Larry did as he was told, but not before he fired a shot in Sherlock's direction who standing next to the table still wearing the evil glare. Sherlock heard his friend scream a warning to him, and ducked just in time to feel the heat of the bullet fly past his ear.

_That was too close for comfort! Good of John to warn me though since the idiotic Larry just HAD to drop the torch. Ugh! Some people!_

A short tiff ensued, but it was all over barely before it began. John had Larry pinned down over the table whilst Sherlock gave the money and papers to Lestrade and sauntered off replaying the series of events. It had a rather unsettling after taste. Donovan piled Larry, Curly, and Moe into the car and drove them to NYS. Tomorrow they would be dealt with to the fullest punishment for their crimes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John celebrated another successful case at Angelo's. This time both of them had something more than just a cup of tea, which for Sherlock was ever so rare. The conversation was light-hearted and full of trivial bickering recounting all the interesting moments and silly blunders of the crooks. Neither of them had forgotten the serious and extremely dangerous moments, but that conversation would be saved for a rainy, dull, dreary, bleak cold day.

_Well if that day ever came, but the chances of that happening were getting slimmer by the minuet. John would have to leave. Tonight was too close for comfort. John didn't know how close the bullet was to me. It's too dangerous for him now, and it's only going to get worse. I didn't want John to leave, but he has a future with Mary. It's for the best._

"...should have seen your face when you were talking to Larry! Had him so scared I could see his hands trembling to trade the torch for the gun on the table." John commented with his mouth full.

"He was weak, gave in to the slightest threat from the one that set-up the whole thing. He and his conspirators were easily dealt with. According to Lestrade he says you haven't lost your military touch. His associates were no match to the Scotland Yard officers; even Anderson could handle them single-handedly. That alone is saying something." Sherlock commented nonchalantly.

"Yea, well it only comes out when needed." John replied brushing off the compliment, he didn't want any more reminders of his past. "What do you mean they didn't plan any of his themselves?!" John questioned with a slight hint of worry creeping through his expression.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and began his rambling. The more he spoke the graver John's face turned. The little incident was only a small part of what was to come, something bigger and more important than stealing some vital papers and money. Sadly a life had been lost in this whole fiasco, but many more lives would be lost lest the network be caught like a mosquito in a spider's web. There wouldn't be a next time. Sherlock and John had to stop this web before time ran out.


	19. Counting Down the Days

**Chapter 19**

* * *

Weeks passed but New Scotland Yard was no closer to dismantling the Web of criminals and finding their Spider. Sherlock, on the other hand, was busy solving trivial cases clients brought in. He wouldn't let his brain rot waiting for the next piece in the puzzle of the Spider Web. Fortunately, it made for momentary delays in his spare time against formulating several explosive compounds built from bodily fluids and random household chemicals. Mrs. Hudson disapproved of them, making her opinion very clear every single time she went up those stairs, and it also drove John crazy.  _"Why on earth would you need to know HOW to explode a body, Sherlock? You're the one supposed to solve the murder, not know HOW to commit one!"_

The consulting detective didn't anticipate John's repeated reaction to those experiments, but it actually turned out to work in his favour. After all, wasn't that the goal-give his flatmate a reason to move away. John needed to leave, and knowing the doctor's behaviour, he wouldn't leave unless something drastic drove him away. Annoying John consistently would work, at least the tall man thought so. Besides, the doctor couldn't stay even if he wanted to; his wedding day was quickly approaching. Dr. and Mrs. Watson marry and have their own flat somewhere else, somewhere not anywhere close to Baker Street. The more Sherlock reasoned to himself why John had to leave, the angrier he felt for the cards he had been dealt in the game of life. Nothing was fair in life for him, but that wasn't any new information to him.

He gave up on the experiment, his mind was too preoccupied. Instead, the sad man went to sulk in his chair aimlessly plucking on his violin at random moments. His face was expressionless. His eyes were flat and dead, just staring ahead without focus. His mind, however, hardly matched his outward appearance, it was burning with anger and rage deep within his guarded Mind Palace.

"It's not fair!" He half screamed and half cried over and over again into Redbeard's soft silky roan fur. He always turned to Redbeard if something was wrong, but now his faithful companion couldn't even help. Redbeard licked his master's tears and nuzzled his master's cheek, but nothing seemed to help him. All he could do was whine softly and let his best friend cry to his heart's content. _"Poor poor Master, I wish I could help..."_

_"WHY ME!? Why did it have to be ME! Why couldn't it have been Mycroft! It's not fair! It seems heartless to say, but Mycroft can still run a country without needing sight. He has everyone do everything for him already. It wouldn't matter if he was blind or not. How am I supposed to do anything without my sight in good order? Unlike my brother dearest, I actually NEED my eyes to work properly. Who would want a blind consulting detective, what good am I to solving crimes and chasing criminals? The Work is my life, I don't know anything else, but solving cases and catching the dumb ones who commit the crimes in the first place. Sure, I'm a graduate chemist, but to study in the field of chemistry requires sight of which I won't have much longer. How am I supposed to look into a microscope and examine the details if I can barely see my hand at arm's length from my face?_

_The Day of Doom is coming fast. I know it, I see the signs, as ionically as it sound, it does describe the situation exactly as it is. It is harder and harder to look at the microscope without it giving me a headache. Too much sunlight I feel dizzy, too little of it then I can't see clearly enough. It is hard to compose new music because the staff is too small for me to see where to write the notes. I don't want a repeat of that one night where John and I ended up cleaning the flat. First, I can't stand cleaning. It is far too dull for my mind. Second, if I let anything remotely similar happen again Mrs. Hudson will have me tethered to her wrist making sure I will not harm myself at any moment then for a certainty John will not want to leave this flat. He and Mary will insist on living in 221C._

_I'm terrified of losing my sight, truly I am. Few things scare me, yes, there was that one incident with the H.O.U.N.D. - but that didn't count. I was drugged. This is far worse than anything I've ever experienced. I can't run from myself, can I? I'm scared. I can't sleep because what if when I wake up then the colourful world I once knew suddenly became a void of black. John still feeds me if I forget to eat, but I am rubbish at cooking so that is not too bad. I could try to cook, but I might accidentally tip over something and the flat might go up in flames. It would mean a risk to Mrs. Hudson too._

_This is why I need John to marry his fiancée and leave this flat, preferably leave London and live somewhere else- anywhere else. This is a big island, anywhere but Baker Street would be an ideal place for the two. I know Mycroft has his respects for John and Mary, he'll help them out in his own special way of course. I can't let him see me fall down this way of becoming absolute rubbish at everything. I need to spare him for all that. He fell to pieces after my fake suicide, I don't even want to imagine what he is thinking during this time._

_I suppose I could go home to mum and dad, but what good would I be there? It's not as if life would be any different for me here or at home. What now!? I hate my life. Absolutely detest it. To see is to have freedom without it I must depend on everyone. I loathe even the thought of coming to that point. I refuse to let John care for me. He will have a wife and perhaps a family later on. I will just be in the way or forgotten along the way. Best to avoid the problem all together. Goodbye John. My best friend._

Sherlock realised John didn't have any intention of leaving anytime soon before his wedding day. At the moment he calculated his rate of visual loss would be 100% approximately two weeks before the wedding date. That just wouldn't work; John had to be gone long before The Day of Doom came. It was fast approaching, it was a running bet in his own mind trying to pinpoint the exact date the curse would reveal itself. It was his sword of Damocles looming over his eyes at every moment swaying back and forth violently on the last frazzled thread of the cord ready to plunge into those once vibrant eyes.

 


	20. Only John

**Chapter 20**

* * *

It had been some time after the "Larry-Curly-Moe" incident, but John was still mulling over the tense situation Sherlock was in when John found him in Battle of Wits with Larry. Well, it was mostly Sherlock's witty sarcastic deductions and Larry's unintelligent childish remarks. John didn't dare think about what might have happened if he found them only a moment later, after all a Battle of Wits came with high prices.

_To the death! I accept!_

Sherlock's Iocane-like immunity of poisonous substances was built up during his time dealing with so-called clever criminals, but everything had a limit. He only has so much in his bag of tricks before he became desperate and needed to pull things from thin air. He thrived in the adrenaline rush that came from cases and chases, but this was cutting too close to the safety line.

"How could Sherlock do that to himself or to _me_ even? What was he thinking of in running off to catch a dangerous armed criminal with no forethought in his actions and no backup? Is that his way of suicide- going out on a dangerous task, never mind the obvious that it was in a dimly lit nearly-abandoned warehouse?! He wouldn't be that careless with his condition, would he? Was he even in the smallest degree concerned of what might have happened if the torch went out or if he didn't react fast enough when I called out to him?" John questioned himself as he lay in bed not focusing on the open medical book. It was his favourite pathology book filled with intricate diagrams and photos under the microscope. He often read it because it was oddly soothing for him to medical books, but his mind was racing on other more pressing thoughts than diseases.

_I worry a great deal for him, even more so now than before. His condition is only getting progressively worse. I dread not knowing how he feels about his Work. How will he continue to work? Could he find a way to solve crimes without being able to see the body? I'm sure it's considerably more than 'a bit not good'. I wish he'd let me help him, keeping his distance from me isn't doing him any good. Sherlock refuses to talk to me. I'm not hurt by it, but I do wish he would not just keep his emotions suppressed. It won't help him in anyway, nor anyone else for that matter. He's going to explode when that day comes and I won't have a clue in how to help him. According to the one and only person to ever claim his brain might rot from not begin used in deducing people and murders, I worry what will happen to that wonderful brain. Will he turn mad? That would be terribly dreadful. I don't want that to happen at all, but it might if he won't talk to me. He eats and drinks only if I put something in his hand. He refuses to sleep a decent number of hours. The most it has been is about ten hours in this past week. He looks so poorly, soon it will be more than his eyesight that I will be concerned of if he doesn't change._

It hadn't been a very good day for him at all. First, Lestrade didn't have a case for him so that in itself was already a bad start. As he didn't have anything interesting to fill his precious brain, so had to settle with looking at specimens in his microscope or conducting strange experiments in the weirdest of places around the flat until he couldn't handle the pain from staring so much. By mid-afternoon the man was deep in his Mind Palace constantly filtering out John's pestering remarks to eat something. "Sherlock, it is just a scone. Could you eat it, you didn't eat anything in the morning?" "No, go away. I'm busy." was the only response the doctor received.

Now Sherlock was downstairs standing by the window playing one of his newest compositions. It was a soft and sombre minor melody because he was bored, reclusive, and depressed. Secretly that was his favourite one of Sherlock's compositions. Music was John's passion at one point, but medicine took over. It wasn't that he didn't like music any more; he just felt his talent was more suited to medicine than music…unlike Karl's. The music only brought on a depressing train of thought concerning his best mate's well-being.

* * *

_It simply wasn't fair, but life never played fair. It was fact clearer that a piece of glass reflecting off a mirror. A lesson I learnt early on growing up. I remember my best mate in school, Karl, sat next to me in every class from primary to Year 9. We were both clarinettist always sitting first stand playing the solos. It was just the wrong time and the wrong place when everything changed. Karl was just standing there waiting for his little sister when a stray ball knocked him unconscious. He had a future as a performance majour. He and I both played well, but he was better I would ever be even if I worked twice as hard as he did. Contusion and coma never made a good mix. Upon finally waking up everything was different for him. His eyes were no longer focused; he no longer had strong fine motor skills. Yes, life wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything deserving of it. It was just the wrong time at the wrong place. Poor mate, he was a good friend...it's just the same with Sherlock. Karl didn't do anything to be struck, it just happened, likewise with Sherlock. Why bother asking "WHY?" It changes nothing. It wasn't Fate's calling or Destiny, simply just happened and that's called Chance._

_As much as it is killing him inside facing this, so it is the same for me too. I am a doctor. My job is to help and heal, that is why I studied medicine. Sickness and disease rule with an iron hand over humans, especially doctors. We feel powerless in face of such tragedies. Medical Science is miraculous in some aspects, but sadly not in all. How I wish we could find cures to all the genetic confusions. A single misplaced "label" in the cell's DNA makes all the difference between two totally different ways of living long before a foetus is even formed. His condition isn't rare, but it isn't very common either. It's just one of those things that happen and people assume wrong more than half of the time, merely brushing it off as "oh that person is blind" and nothing more. It is an X-linked disorder most commonly affecting boys. The genetic mutation that causes the disease is found on the X chromosome, which men inherit from their mothers. Genetics, you're wonderful and fascinating to study, but at the same time you are so very evil. So Evil._

_Mary has been told briefly what is going on, but it took a lot of convincing for him to agree to it. I understand this is a life changing issue, but it shouldn't be anything to hide from others, especially those who really want to help. Mary is such a dear. She's handles his temper and mood swings quite well, far better than any other women I've met before. I'm glad I will marry her. It's just so disconcerting to me. Our wedding day is coming fast and I've excited for it, but this will also mean a lot of changes for everyone's living arrangements. I can't leave Sherlock alone at a time like this! This is too much for him to handle. Being a creature of habit, small changes irk him greatly, and this is no small change. I'll have to speak with Mary about where we'll live, maybe the two of us will be able to work something out between him and Mrs. Hudson. He's my best mate. I can't and won't leave him to fight this proverbial battle alone._

* * *

A terrible hiss came from the violin that brought John out of his reverie, and he sighed. Sherlock was upset, so that poor violin would once again bear the wrath of the violinist. People who no longer had sight could still live an independent life for the most part; John knew Sherlock would want nothing less than that. Pride wasn't the main issue, but rather the acceptance of his failing sight was even more so. Sherlock had pride, but also knew his limitations. John was always the first person he turned to if something was a bit interesting on a case. This would be something entirely foreign to them both. John's medical training focused a lot more on emergency situations than building a doctor-patient relationship. John was good at keeping patients calm during the care, but post-operation patient care wasn't his forte. He didn't know how to handle Sherlock's behaviour, much less know how to help the consulting detective out of his depressed state.


	21. Spider Web

**Chapter 21**

* * *

Sherlock realised John didn't have any intention of leaving any time soon before his wedding day. At the moment he calculated his rate of visual loss would be 100% approximately two weeks before the wedding date. That just wouldn't work; John had to be gone long before The Day of Doom came. It was fast approaching with a running bet in his mind trying to pinpoint the exact date the curse would reveal itself. It was his sword of Damocles looming over his eyes at every moment swaying back and forth violently on the last frazzled thread of the cord ready to plunge into those once vibrant eyes.

A terrible hiss came from the violin brought John out of his reverie, and he sighed. Sherlock was upset, so that poor violin would once again bear the wrath of the violinist. People who no longer had sight could still live an independent life for the most part. Sherlock needed to understand that, but _how_ to show the man that was something John was at a loss for.

* * *

At last something turned up and not a day too soon. Really, it couldn't have been better timing than that. Sherlock was perfecting his body fluid explosives experiment, and John was nearly at wits end trying to keep everyone in 221 Baker Street alive. It was all a bit of a blur in how many times John had to rush Mrs. Hudson and the man-child scientist out to the pavement, so as not to die of poisonous fumes because it was _someone's brilliant idea_ to close all the windows and seal up the vents for the experiment. "Death by suffocation is not my preferred choice of going, there are more interesting ways to go," the doctor told Sherlock countless times, but it never registered in the man's intelligent brain.

Sherlock's phone chimed early one morning just after the first cup of tea with delightful words.

_Spider Web case. Found a lead. NYS. Lestrade._

Before Sherlock could utter a comment about his phone, John scrambled to his room and changed into a fresh set of clothes, beating his flatmate down stairs before he realised his mistake. Stairs were only a small trouble for Sherlock now, but they would become so as the time went on.

It had happened a couple times in the recent past where a misjudged distance caused his footing to slide and crashed into the doctor, who thankfully was paying attention so caught them from both hitting the front door.

John rushed up the steps and waited by the banister for Sherlock to tie up his scarf and flip up the collar the on that blasted coat. _How could he stand to wear it no matter the season!? As much as I love my knit jumpers, I refuse to wear it in the middle of summer. I have common sense…unlike some people that I know of._

"Let's go!" the consulting detective called out following the doctor cautiously down the steps into the waiting arms of Mrs. Hudson. She hugged, kissed her boys, and bid them best wishes for the case. "Solve the case and come home in one piece!" the duo heard Mother Hen say as the cabbie pulled into the morning traffic.

Once again the two strode into NYS catching the curious eyes of all the officers there, especially Donovan's and Anderson's. Neither person was particularly fond of those two; they weren't the friendliest of the bunch. John understood when Sherlock would demand for anyone but those two; however, that hardly ever happened. Those two were rarely seen without Lestrade nearby. "Suppose it is hard to cooperate with others constantly insulting him whilst working on the crime scene," John mused trailing after the eager man.

"What is it Lestrade? Has the spider finally shown itself, or is it just another one of its sacrificial flies cowering in the corner?" Sherlock demanded striding in and hit the corner of the desk with his hip, but he wasn't thrown off a beat in impatiently questioning the detective inspector.

Lestrade and John shot a concerned glance to each other. "Have a look for yourself. Here are some photographs. They're being interrogated now. Arrested them jsut now for very suspicious activity around the same building we caught the Three Stooges. John, come have a look at this, will you? It's more your area of medical expertise." Lestrade answered and returned to read the current case file.

Sherlock again hit the desk as he stormed off to grill the blundering fools caught up in the Spider's Web. He had a fairly good idea who was behind all this, but it was wise to never assume unless all the facts are present.

Glancing behind his shoulder, John walked over to look at whatever Lestrade wanted him to see, but he knew it was just a code for something else.

"That'll leave a nice bruise on him, it was a hard hit. We've probably got ten minutes tops before he gets back, and that includes a conversation purely dedicated to insulting Anderson again," John whispered to Lestrade whilst pretending to be looking at the file. Lestrade nodded and pointed to a random spot on the paper as if to legitimise their discussion on something complete irrelevant to it.

Without beating around the bush Lestrade spoke into the file, "How's he holding up? How about you? It must be stressful living with him and his fiery temper tantrums. Should I stop calling on him for cases? He really can't go on like this much longer, can he? Like now for example."

John suppressed a snigger and smiled, "Just being around the man is stressful no matter the situation. I'm sure Anderson would be the first to proclaim that loudly. His mood swings are worse than a person diagnosed with the disorder. Can't say neither are at fault though, they tempt each other to retaliate with some interesting insults".

He paused sneaking a glance at the door, Sherlock wasn't coming. Good.

The cheerfulness disappeared and instead a sad smile coated the doctor's expression as he continued. "In all seriousness, our call was a much needed relief. He's been trying to kill every living thing in 221 with that horrid experiment. I've lost count how many times I have come home to a dreadful stench fuming out to the pavement from the cracks in the front door. Aside from his usual reckless behaviour I don't know much else about him. He refuses to talks about it, which is understandable, but I don't think he can keep this up this bluff much longer. Going out on to crime scenes have always been dangerous, even more so now. It's quite depressing this is. I feel awful for him and there's really not much anyone can do to help him, except help him to accept it and face the change."

Lestrade gave an understanding nod. Just as John said, this was very bad for the consulting detective. It didn't matter that Lestrade would have unsolved cases piling up once Sherlock stopped working with NYS. He was more concerned about his son. He thought of the consulting detective as his near kin after scraping him off the terrible life he lived. Before working with NYS his life was filled with nothing but chemistry experiments and taking drugs. Lestrad had helped the man change entirely, well mostly, aside from chemistry experiments and the thrill of feeling 'high'. At least the 'high' feeling came from solving crimes not drugs...how will he even function once he can no longer be at crime scenes?

* * *


	22. Markings!

**Chapter 22**

* * *

Not wanting to cause any more gossip for those two "girls" that saw his clumsy moment (thankful it was only those two); he carefully hid his uneven painful gait as he went to share the finding of the interrogation. As if anyone could be even more slow-minded, the latest two suspects surpassed the expectation of it by far. One of the Three Stooges actually proved to be a half-decent criminal whilst the other two coward under the threat of an empty gun when NSY had the pleasure of meeting them. It was a most peculiar case, something just didn't match up right. It wasn't like any case he'd ever had. As he contemplated the complexity of the case, Sherlock overheard the final remnants of the conversation in Lestrade's office. He held his breath and walked with his heels off the ground.

"...I know it is Greg, so aggravating...we have to help him...Just have to..."

"How, John? We would all do anything for him...Keep his spirits up, well you know after that..."

He stopped short and pressed himself against the wall continuing to eavesdrop. His heart twisted in pain and anger with each word he heard.

_This wasn't fair at all, I don't want this! If John is doing this then it makes it harder from him to leave Baker Street. Why can't he just leave me to be? I don't need his help. I refuse to be pitied or shunned. I've had enough of that during my lifetime, it disgusts me when people offer heartless comments or sympathies. If this is to be so then my last wish is to have my eyes stay vigilant just long enough to see the case closed. Literally._

"Of course. We should meet up with the ladies. They can help us think up useful ideas. Molly has been keeping Sherlock level with body parts experiments, but that idea is going up in a flame, literally. " John whispered so softly that the consulting detective strained to listen.

Sherlock couldn't hear Lestrade nod, but he sensed the elder man's response. Deep in his Mind Palace a mental note was made of this conversation, it would most likely be useful in the near future. Unfortunately. Dreadful business all of this was, but it wasn't the time to be selfish and think about only about his personal matters. There was a case before him, and he had to solve it before he couldn't work any more.

_Well, could I still work? It might be possible, right? I must find a way. How? I suppose Lestrade, not John any more, could describe the crime scene to me. I could give it a go, but what if that doesn't work? Then what?! I will have nothing to keep my brain from rotting. Experiments are out of the question. Even though John complains about my experiments being hazardous and left all over the flat, they are actually indeed quite safe. Well, that is safe according to one with sight and able to put out the occasional accidental fire or clean up the corrosive chemical spills. What else would give me pleasure and keep my brain from rotting?_

_I swore I would never go back to drugs; I may not be gentlemanly all the time, but there are some aspects that I keep my words faithfully. Molly's disappointed look stung more than the stinging after she struck me realising my relapse into drugs, even if it was for a legitimate reason. Failure and disappointment hurts quick greatly. The pain can be much, and it won't go away quick like the pain felt on the skin. I needed Mangussen to "find" my pseudo-weakness. I'm so very sorry Molly Hooper. I will never disappoint you again. I promise on my life. Never again. You have always matter to me. Always._

_I only hope I have enough time left to solve this case. It most likely will be the last one ever, after that I'm doomed and so is England. Pity on them. A nightmare for me. Thieves and murderers running rampant across the whole of United Kingdom, and no one can stop them-certainly not Scotland Yard!_

_FOCUS Sherlock! You're not completely blind yet! Don't be distract with sentimental rubbish, it takes away from the more important matters._

At any rate he wasn't in total darkness yet, so his focus would solely be on finding the Spider and destroying the Web. Those bumbling criminals were caught by NSY for suspicious activity. That alone said a lot. If those silly officers could manage that then the whole criminal operation could sway to the easy side of the spectrum and be dealt with quickly, or could go extremely poorly and cause a bigger mess of things. At present there were five people all convicted with the same charges for connections with The Spider.

* * *

During the interrogation with both NSY officers and Sherlock, each criminal pointed to a marking on their body; none of them would say a word about it, except repeat the word "Spider" over and over. The two newly arrested ones had a gruesomely vicious looking toad or lizard stained on their forearm in black, yellow, and red. Larry was branded with a vicious bright orange fang-baring snake curling up from his wrist to forearm. Curly had a scorpion imprinted at the nape of his neck in dark black with the stinger poised to attack. On Moe's ankle there was a brown centipede wound tightly around it. The head of the insect had large piercing red eyes looking up, so when looking at it, the creature would look back with an intense fury.

It didn't make sense to anyone, not even to Sherlock. What was so important about a marking and the word "Spider"? This didn't follow even remotely to the Black Lotus case; all its members who smuggled had the same marking. This group wasn't smuggling expensive goods, they were attempting to steal information.

Two of the markings were of the _Reptilia_ family, and the other two were _Insecta_. The toad didn't belong in either of those groups. Was the Genus even important? Why would all five of the criminals show their markings and repeat the word "Spider"? They remained would either remain silent or just give a hard glare at the whitewashed wall. The behaviour of those men were so erratic; one minuet they would cower under the threats, and the next turn harder than stone.

The elusive Spider was using its flies for biding time in setting up the complex plot, and running off before the web could be destroyed.


	23. Dinner Discussions

**Chapter 23**

* * *

The criminals of the Spider Web case were still under the watchful eye of the NSY officers, however watchful that may be, since they usually miss not only the forest, but also the trees.

One really feels protected living in England under the watchful eyes of NSY! Sure...

It was the most frustrating case the duo has encountered in several months. During the time spam from first apprehending the "Three Stooges" at the warehouse, then catching the "Plus Two Dimwits", two whole months had elapsed. Cases never took that long to solve. Never. Why this one?

"Why can't I solve it!? Come on Brain, work properly now. You're on a deadline," Sherlock mused dejectedly pulling his hair whilst spinning round and round on his heels.

"Hey mate, you all right there?" John questioned flagging down the walking stick's attention.

"Goodness...if hearts could possibly break any worse, I wouldn't know how to bear it", John thought watching his friends eyes dart around in an ever so slightly panicking manner trying to find a body to the voice.

_There wasn't much sand left...it was draining faster and faster..._

"Of course I'm fine! I'm just thinking about the case and now you've distracted me!" The dragon growled menacingly at the smaller man. His beady eyes finally connected to the origin of the sound and glared into John's.

"Ok. Ok. No need to roast me with your fiery temper," John shot back with his hands up in a defensive position. "Just making sure you're alright since the floor probably has the beginnings of your pacing imprinted in the wood through the rug, and I'm speaking in behalf of the rug who is crying out in pain. Mrs. Hudson won't be pleased, to say the least, if you mess up another thing in this flat. Bless her for putting up with every bit of you and your strange ways. Have a seat will you? You're making me uncomfortable pacing back in forth." John gestured to the choices of furniture by the hearth hoping the stressed one would follow the advise.

"Leave me alone. I'm fine. I'm working on the case! It was YOUR idea to invite an army to our puny flat for supper. Go and impress your fiancée. That's what you're supposed to do, aren't you?" Sherlock huffed out whilst curled up into a ball sulking in his chair.

John was smarter than that; he knew the case wasn't the only thing on Sherlock's mind. Impressing his fiancée wasn't the only thing on his mind either. If only Sherlock would sit and earnestly listen to him, he might act differently toward John. He sighed. Things were always difficult with his flatmate; if things were ever easy then something was wrong. Sherlock never agreed to anything without first putting up a fight. Now was not the time to start new habits for the grown child, John figured. As if any one particular time seemed best for Sherlock to pick up good habits. _That was a laugh!_

At last the "army" showed up. It was such a massive crowd of merely three people loaded down with food who followed Mrs. Hudson up the flight of steps.

John scoffed at Sherlock's exaggeration.

_Yes Sherlock, three extra people in our 'puny' flat constitutes an army. I understand your logic beautifully. The beautiful mind that deduces everything compares three average civilians to an entire army. Good Sherlock. Just be glad Anderson wasn't here to hear that bit of information._

He'd have a fit over it and might not live if Sherlock got a hold of him.

* * *

Greg, Molly and, Mary one by one bid hello to the duo's presence, Sherlock had his eyes closed and didn't make any movement to acknowledge their presence which earned him a firm punch on the arm from John. "Be polite!" He hissed into the rude man's ear. An annoyed sigh was all that greeted them from Sherlock. He rolled his eyes and pouted even more.

John kissed Mary's cheek and started to unpack the food that came with the guests. It was a simple supper with cheap wine. None of the persons there had a fancy for extravagance. Thank goodness Mycroft wasn't there though. He might have objected loudly.

"Go away all of you! I don't want you. The wedding is next week and I still have gotten John out into a new place. You lot being here isn't making it any easier." Sherlock thought with a scowl still clearly shown on his face.

"Sherlock," Molly tapped her friend lightly on the shoulder bringing him back to reality. "We've set the table. Come eat now. Please. Just come still even if you don't want to eat."

"If you insist."

He untangled himself and followed the good-hearted pathologist taking a seat next to her. He really wasn't in the mood for eating especially since he was on a case. A troubling and rather irritating case actually, it wasn't helping his mood or appetite. To please his friends he would suffer through the meal and half-listen to the idle nonsense about the latest happenings in each ones' lives.

_Oh so dull!_

There was talk about the coming wedding, the honeymoon, the miserable weather (which Brit wouldn't mention the state of the rubbish weather at least once a day, if not more?), gossip about Anderson showing off his below-par IQ level to everyone at NSY every moment he got. Sherlock's rubbish attitude soon faded, and he did enjoy the last one topic, contributed quite a lot to the conversation too. Who was he to pass up a jibe toward the inept Philip?

"You should have heard him..." Lestrade would begin and Sherlock would cut him off telling the rest of the story, stressing the irritation even the other officers had toward their workmate.

Things were going well, better than he imagined it would have been. This was a good sign

"Maybe it was a good idea to invite this army over for a meal," Sherlock thought, zoning out of the conversation again about the colour scheme the wedding would be decorated in .It soon turned into a dangerous subject, but it wasn't anyone's fault. The topic just crept up. Naturally, after questions about the wedding ceremony and honeymoon the next logical question would be "Have you found a place?" Molly noticed he flinched slightly at the question. Sherlock felt a soft pat on his hand and quickly found his hand entwined with his pathologist's as a reassuring mark to keep him from losing his composure.

He didn't want to hear what John and Mary would say that was information he couldn't delete no matter how hard he tried. He wanted John to leave him and spend his days happily married to his Mary and have kids, not worrying about important things...but he didn't want to lose his friend.

It was a hard battle between the selfish Sherlock wanting to keep his best mate with him against the Selfless Sherlock realising John's world does not focus on solely solving crimes with him.

John sensed Sherlock's apprehension toward the subject and answered in the vaguest form possible. He needed to have that chat with his best man. "Not really. We haven't actually discussed it yet," John replied squeezing his fiancée's hand under table silently begging her to go along with the plan. Mary understood and added, "We've been so busy with the wedding arrangements we hadn't had time to have a proper talk about it.

"Oh don't worry about that," Mrs. Hudson piped in. "You can stay in the spare flat. I haven't let it out in ages, about time something good come from it."

Greg nodded energetically, oblivious the level of uncomfortable-ness hanging in the air pitched in, "We'd all be so close together. It will be great!"

Molly tightened her grip on Sherlock's hand and suppressed a sigh.

 _Oh Sherlock...Why are you so afraid? What are you afraid of? Of no longer being able to see? I can understand how that would be something intimidating, but don't forget you have friend. Friends that love you more than you know. "You've always counted, and I've always trusted you." You said that to me once before, and I know you meant it_. _I have always trusted you, trust me now. Tell me what is wrong. I want to help. What is so frightening about John and Mary living in the flat above you?_

The fiancé and fiancée snuck a glance to each other, an entire conversation played out in their eyes. There was no doubt what the final answer would be, no matter where they lived. It could be a card board box for all that mattered so as long as it was near their friends. Now was not the time to have that discussion though, it was a night for laughter and fun, they would make sure of it.


	24. Laissez le bon temps roulez!

**Chapter 24**

* * *

_The fiancé and fiancée snuck a glance to each other, an entire conversation played out in their eyes. There was no doubt what the final answer would be, no matter where they lived. It could be a card board box for all that mattered so as long as it was near their friends. Now was not the time to have that discussion though, it was a night for laughter and fun, they would make sure of it._

* * *

Skilfully steering the conversation away from that tender subject, Molly started talking about her friends that would be coming for a visit later in the year all the way from America. It was, after all, their first time over the pond. It had to be a memorable experience, Molly would make certain of it.

"What do you think Sherlock?" Molly asked looking at him carefully reading the veiled expressions. "Have any place particular a tourist would enjoy that isn't on the Hot Spots List. She doesn't care much to visit Big Ben or the palace...but rather wants to know the 'real' England." Molly finished with a soft laugh at her friends' definition of 'real'.

Everyone bit their tongue figuratively to keep from any noise escaping their lips; it was a sight that twisted their hearts. Molly, on the other hand, bit her tongue literally to hold back a whimper. He had instinctively turned his head to whoever was speaker, however, he wasn't looking at Molly. His eyes were glazed over, settling on the wall behind her chair.

"I believe a nice stroll in the park would be enjoyable for them then some shopping. There are many to choose from. Isn't that what women like?" Sherlock questioned looking at the wall straight of front of him. Mary and Mrs. Hudson nodded to each other. Greg looked questionably at John, who just waved his hand as if to say "I'll tell you later."

"Yes Sherlock, I would suggest a lunch there too. I'm sure they'll have a splendid time here..." Mary added.

"Good." Sherlock mumbled as he began to zone out on the conversation again. It was getting dull...

 _Molly, I know why you held my hand. I know why you started talking. Thank you._ _Why did you make a sound after you questioned everyone? Did someone make a face? You must tell me. I rely on words and sounds more so than ever before._

Much to the delight of all at the dinner table, the meal and conversation soon wrapped up on a lighter note. Everyone was settled around the fireplace throwing out ideas of what to do next. It was too early for anyone to leave yet, they weren't strangers to each other. No one would have thought it strange if the three guests spontaneously decided to camp out at the flat overnight.

* * *

"I'm parched!" Sherlock announced loudly, breaking the flow of the conversation. He stood up from his chair, deftly hopped over the worn down coffee table, and headed to put on the tea. Sherlock's behaviour was all over the place tonight, no one could follow along. One minuet he was sulking and throwing a fit and the next he willingly, WILLINGLY volunteered to put on the tea. He never does that. Never!

"What's gotten into Sherlock?" everyone contemplated, giving each other confused looks that no one had an answer to.

Twenty minutes passed and Sherlock still hadn't returned, Molly left quietly to see if he needed help.

"Hey Sherlock, how's the tea coming along? Can I lend you a hand?"

"Molly." Sherlock stated plainly not breaking his concentration in whatever he was doing; she couldn't quite figure it out. "Did John send you in here to spy on me? Make sure I wouldn't drug his tea again like that one incident?"

"Actually, no. Not at all, I just came and thought you might need some help carrying all six cups to the table." She ventured slowly carefully hiding her real reason for talking with the consulting detective.

"Oh. Yes I would actually. Thank you."

She gathered to cups and set them on a tray, as she turned to get the teapot something caught her eye. It was red.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Molly demanded gently taking his scalded hands into her. He drew back instinctively, but the grip around his wrist only tightened causing him to wince. Molly didn't have the same level of attention to details like Sherlock did, but hers was still quite good. She noticed his discomfort and pressed on for more information. "It's ok Sherlock, you can tell me. Please tell me." Molly spoke softly so the others couldn't hear their conversation.

The man sighed a very sad sigh, closed his eyes, and dipped his head down. "No, I can't. Don't worry it's just a burn mark. Nothing serious," he returned barely above a whisper. "Besides, it's not fair to anyone if I do, this is my problem. I'm the one going blind. Why should I share my problem if talking about it will solve nothing? I'm the one to be reduced to nothing in only a matter of weeks. You can't help me, so why bother trouble you with information. It won't change the fact. Nothing can help me. No one can help me. This is it. Molly, I'm at the end of my line. It's time you accept it too. "Molly said nothing, but her mind was furious. She hugged him tight and kissed his cheek.

_Her dear Sherlock was suffering and hid it from everyone. It made her feel bad for him. If only he would let me in, or someone in, to help him. You would feel so much better Sherlock._

"No. You're wrong Sherlock, very wrong. All wrong. You have friends. We WANT to help you. We WILL help you. You're never a bother to me. Yes, you make me angry when you steal from the morgue, but that's just trivial nonsense. Why do you think that you have no one with you? Why do you think we're all here at your flat if we didn't care for you? Did you think we would leave you to battle this alone? We can't change the inevitable, but we can be there alongside you. Support you. You told me once that I counted, that you need me. You can have me Sherlock. I've known you for such a long time, you've helped me before. All you have to do it talk to me."

He nodded.

Sherlock, look at me. Look into my eyes."

At that she look cupped his face and pointed straight at hers.

"Do you see me?"

He nodded again, taking in every detail of her features. He wanted a perfect memory of his Molly engrained in his Mind Palace.

"Remember this and put this in your Mind Palace. Never forget it. Never. You have me, John and Mary, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. Even your brother Mycroft. That is six people who care about you so very much. Talk to us. We will listen. This is not and one-to-one battle. Promise me this Sherlock. You've always mattered to me." Molly finished and gave him another hug.

The detective stood there in Molly's embrace stunned at her words and actions, then he found his arms holding his pathologist.

"I promise Molly Hooper. Promise," he whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

* * *

Finally returning back into the room, the two of them handed tea to everyone. "Have you thought of something to occupy the time?" Sherlock asked after taking a sip savouring the rich flavour of Earl Grey. Tea. Delicious tea. Splendid tea. Delightful tea. Wonderful tea. The most amazing substance on earth. Thank goodness for tea. A heavenly delight it truly was.

"Nope!" Mary commented joyfully, "We were waiting for you two to return with the drinks, just been chatting about work at the hospital with patients and postmortems. Boring paperwork and all..."

"Ah...so how about a card game? Fancy that?" Molly looked around the room for support.

No. I have a better idea, let's play Operation. We can play in teams."

All noise ceased at that comment. Even the drone from the air seemed to stop momentarily as if to say "repeat yourself again, I didn't quite catch it right."

An unspoken "What!?" hung in the air. It wasn't so much the question that shocked everyone, it was WHO suggested it that shocked the room.

"It _had_ to be you, who else would suggest a game like that?" wondered John. "Under ordinary circumstances, I would have played that, but now..really...? Why Sherlock? What is wrong, what won't you tell me? This isn't the typical you."

Breaking the silence Mrs. Hudson tapped on John's shoulder, "Do you still have that game, is it playable?" He shrugged and shook his head. It was ages since he'd played that game, most likely it was shredded by his flatmate taking bits and pieces of for his more creative experiments.

"Yes we do. Top shelf of the case, about midway between the encyclopaedias, under the stack of chemical journals on poisonous horticulture. By the way, there's great article on Nightshade on page 65 of the third journal from the top with the watermark over the glycerol compound photograph."

Greg laughed and nearly choked on his tea. "Only you would bother to remember trivial information like, Sherlock. A particular article on a specific page AND recall what it looks like."

"It's useful information! Nightshade can be made into several different lethal toxins for instance..." he shot back at the DI scowling.

The ladies set up the game and decided they would show the men how to play the game. It was the 'girl power' factor they claimed loudly. Soon all were comfortably settled around the board laughing and joking as if playing this one game was the most normal thing to do even despite Sherlock's condition. _Laissez le bon temps roulez_ (Let the good times roll!)


	25. The Mighty Twenty-two

**Chapter 25**

* * *

"What was it with Sherlock tonight? You spent quite a lot of time with him. Did you find anything to, you know, help him for later on," Greg questioned Molly as they shared a cabbie ride back to their respective places.

Molly took a breath and spoke softly, "He's fighting it. Thinks we are going to abandon him because he labels himself as Useless. Poor thing. I don't think he has come to terms with it yet. I think that is why he acted so erratic tonight. Specifically playing a hand-eye coordination game and willingly serve tea. You really couldn't see it, but his hands were burned. He is proving he isn't some hopeless invalid in the idea we would still talk to him." Molly paused and look at Greg directly, "Did you look into his eyes tonight during the game?"

"I did and so did everyone else."

"The gleam in his eyes are gone. It is as if he doesn't now want to see any more out of those wonderfully-attentive-to-detail eyes. They are dull and void of all emotion." Molly bit back a sniffle.

"Our laughter and humour tonight was genuine, but it only masks the concern we have for him. Why would he call himself an invalid!?" Greg's voice rose the more he connected Molly's words with Sherlock's behaviour, "He certainly is not one. I don't like the thought of him trying to prove his worth to us at all. You don't prove yourself to your friends; they take you as you are and make you a better person! His burns aren't serious, right?"

"Not serious, but painful. Like any burn is so."

* * *

It was painful to the consulting detective surely, but also painful for everyone who befriended the man, Greg thought.

_Nothing could be done for him, no medicine of any sort could delay the progression. Questioning "why him?"would satisfy nothing, thus not worth the trouble of grief over it. Could I ever look at him the same again? What would his life be filled with? I never expected Sherlock to be stuck behind a desk pounding away at the computer. He'd call it tedious and pawn it off to someone else whilst he probably revise his dangerous experiments. Surely there would be something that would give him interest. I can't bear the thought of him returning to drugs again, especially since that latest contact with those horrid substances was not long after his "resurrection". He sought after solving cases because "the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through the veins" sensation of feeling euphoria over the alternative. I fear his three-patch method won't hold him for very long after that time..._

_Suppose he works in matters for the blind? I don't know, teach for a school for the blind? I mean there are loads of things he is able to do without needing eyesight. Learn to read ad type in Braille. I'm sure there are sources for him, beside I'm betting his elder brother could get top-rate everything for him. The best of the best, would that make a difference in his brilliant mind? I can only hope it will sustain him long enough until something else comes up._

Greg hung his head dejectedly and sighed again.

Molly gave him a weak smile, "it's a tough time now. It probably won't get any easier as things progress, but we'll pull through this, help each other most of all we will help him learn a new way of living. We need to help John and Mary right now. Finding a place to live once their married is a priority, in a manner of speaking Sherlock is fading fast, the To Be Watsons need themselves established."

Molly finished her thought and just stared out the window. Something unexpected happened that caught her completely off guard. Her eyes were moist with tears and streamed down her face She didn't even know she was crying till Greg pointed it out with concern clearly etched in his face. Why was she crying?

"Suppose it is my subconscious taking over me," Molly reasoned trying to reassure herself nothing was the matter.

"I was only looking out the window and noticing all the vibrant array of colours decorating the city..."

The light bounced off the pavement or the reflection of car lights on the glass of the shops it drives by, a pleasing sight it was.

_The stars are shinning,as if they know tonight was so full if mixed emotions, to tease me. 'Hey! Look at me they call out twinkling. You can see me, but some no longer can see in the dark. Pity unto them. This is what they are missing. The glorious and marvellous creations God made, but we're nothing to him now.' Words alone would hardly even come close to describing our dazzling magnificence. "You only miss the sun when it starts to snow." (qtd. "Let Her Go" Passenger)_

A terrible feeling over powered her, **this** is everything Sherlock has thought of she realised. She understood better now his behaviour this night then. He was not only proving to others, but more importantly to himself, to gauge how much of his ability he had left and hide the truth of it.

_Why hide Sherlock? Don't push me away after all we've been through. You promised._

* * *

The five criminals were rather antsy about the whole ordeal. It was supposed to be a smooth process, but something went wrong. No one knew exactly what happened, yet their blunder landed them front row seats with an audience of NSY officers. Their Spider Lord was nowhere to be found, probably gone into planning another devious scheme whatever that may be so. If they ever made it alive out of this building they wouldn't survive the wrath of their Spider Lord.

Obviously the markings had some significance because for some bizarre reason the NSY decided to research the markings of the criminals. It was such a broad topic so much effort was expended for a little to no useful return. There really wasn't much anyone could work with since no new leads were discovered.

_Was this The Ultimate Catch-22?_

The case need to be solved before anything terrible could further come from the Spider Lord and wreak havoc across England, but at the same time Sherlock's mental outlook need to be cared for. He is useful. If Sherlock could solve the case it would build his confidence, but at what price? His hourglass is nearly dry, only a small mound remains. If he solved this, it very well may be his last ever, then what would come of him? Spiralling down some madness maybe? Time was the prime factor, it played the hero and the villain. Be kind to Sherlock-go slowly, yet it will hurt the Case. Time, if you be quick, you hurt the case and you shred the hope of the one who could solve it.

* * *

 


	26. Decisions Made

**Chapter 26**

* * *

Quickly tiding up the dishes from the tea and straightening the flat, John stifled a yawn, glancing around the flat making sure nothing was hazardous, like loose papers or chemistry journals littering the floor (wouldn't want a repeat of that one night again), to his flatmate who sprawled ungracefully on the settee conked out. Apparently, tonight's activities were more strenuous than anticipated by either men, he wouldn't want anything to hurt Sherlock or his pride, that would only make his spirits sink even further than it already was. Tonight was mostly cheery, granted a few moments were strained, but it didn't last long-thankfully!

Molly was the life-saver during those moments. "I don't care what anyone says, but I know for a fact Sherlock has a soft spot for the good-hearted doctor," John commented under his breath as he cleared the floor of Sherlock's case files, "Their conversation, under the pretence of making tea, was the solid proof of it. Everyone knows tea does not take that long to prepare, even if the water was a frozen block and had to be melted. It's _so_ obvious. No matter how hard he denies having any sentimental attachments to anything or anyone, Molly is THE exception, probably the only one ever. It takes such kind-hearted and determined lady to handle this grown-child. I only hope whatever happened between them helped convince Sherlock about the type of friends he has. We're certainly not fair-weather friends."

After taking a final glance around the flat and making sure his flatmate was safe, John trudged up the steps to have a nice long hot shower.

* * *

Flopping down on his bed for the night mobile in hand, John dialled to his fiancée. It couldn't wait any longer, this conversation needed to happen. The question need to be asked, and a decision needed to be set in stone.

_Where would they live?_

"Hello Doctor," Mary spoke after answering the first ring, "thank you for dinner at your flat with company. I enjoyed it quite well. Now I know you wouldn't be calling just to chat, you have something important in mind. Out with it."

His Mary was far too sharp for any small talk. He had met the perfect lady to be his wife. How he loved her so much.

"Yes my Mary," John responded with a smile in his voice, "you're quick in deducing. Might make Sherlock jealous."

Mary laughed. Her laughter just made John smile silly like a love struck teen.

"If you insist it Doctor, Mary continued, "you mean to discuss tonight's conversations, most particularly of what happens to us after we are married. I may not be up to the level in deductions like you and Sherlock are, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't feeling too comfortable at dinner."

John's stomach felt uneasy discussion the issue, it wasn't that he didn't want to live with his wife, but he had this concern to his friend.

"Yes my Mary, you're becoming just like Sherlock. Quick with deductionS, I am hardly so. I did notice his behaviour. He doesn't usually like to eat much anyway. What do you think of it? Where should we live?" John ventured.

"Dear Doctor," Mary began softly and sweetly.

Her voice just made John turn into a pile of mush. How glad he was Sherlock was not anywhere near his room. If Sherlock heard or saw any of this, John would never hear the end of it and run the risk of Mary finding out. He shuddered. Something are better kept hidden. It was for the benefit of everyone.

She continued, "Nothing needs to be discussed Doctor. I know what must be done and I have no resentments at all. He is not your friend alone. Remember? When he and I first met, I told you I liked him. I really do. He is a good man and your best friend. Besides, I know Mrs. Hudson would be more than thrilled not to lose one of her tenants."

_How on earth did he find a lady like this? She was perfect from the start and still is perfect. He was a mess, yet managed to have the most darling lady want to spend the rest of her life with him._

John returned,"As you wish my Mary. We will move in to flat above Sherlock's right after our honeymoon. Mrs. Hudson has secretly been preparing it for us, though she doesn't know that I sneak up there occasionally and look around."

So it was settled then, and all too easy it was, but it was really just like that. Mary would live in her husband's building just so the two of them would be near their friend/best friend. The rest of the conversation turned into ideas of what the couple planned for their new place, how the layout would be designed, what furniture would they need that the flat didn't already furnish. It was conversation both of them enjoyed very much; however, in the back of their mind the reason for such a place to live haunted them like a bad aftertaste. Nothing could rid the constant reminder of what was to come, and the increasing number of challenges everyone would face.

* * *

Sherlock was left alone slowly coming into consciousness shortly after John went upstairs. He looked around and decided there was nothing requiring his attention so he stayed on the settee replaying the events earlier that evening.

_At last! I'm alone again. Alone is what protects me!_

_Everything that happened tonight was too much! I anticipated none of this, why so? I can usually guess out how the ending of anything would turn out. Molly. She's shocked me the most. Of all the people that are in my life, I expected her reaction to my future as one full of relief. I would no longer be badgering her at the morgue or experimenting on the body parts I "borrowed" from there. I didn't know she cared that much, that she remembered our conversation ages ago: 'You've always counted to me Molly'. Of course you do, I just didn't know I counted as anything to you. I thought I was nothing more than a fantasy of yours. I thought I was nothing to you._

Tired of laying on the the settee, Sherlock's fingers followed the wooden grooves of the wall as he stumbled about noisily to his room. "I hoped John doesn't hear this," Sherlock berated himself for his clumsiness. Groping around trying organising his things off the bed, which was cluttered with papers, books, and experiments was not easy at all since his Nyctalopia took a sharp nose-dived within the last couple of weeks. He didn't even bother turning on the lights as it would have made very little difference to him, in dim lightning it was as good as if his blindness was fully manifested. _How he loathed every moment of this dreaded condition._

_John didn't notice the Nyctalopia. Good. It would stay that way. He must not know until absolutely necessary._

His body desperately needed to rest, so he just shoved everything to one side and curled up in a ball hugging the pillow. Not sleep. Never sleep. Only rest. Sleep meant eyes closed and the brain was running on minimum power. "That simply couldn't be done, especially not at a time like this!" the man reasoned with himself whilst massaging in the oils molly applied on his burns earlier.

Rest implied, according to Sherlock, keeping the mind fully functioning and eyes opened, but not attentive to any particular object. Merely just a blank stare. "Suppose I could practise that aimless stare feeling, as I'll be doing it quite soon all the time," Sherlock mumbled to himself adding in a dry sarcastic laugh, "Not that it would matter anyway, since I wouldn't be able to know how I would look like. That's such scary thought though!" He scoffed at the thought then a surge of terror seized his thoughts.

 _What if I open my eyes in the morning and the sunlight doesn't burn my eyes anymore? What if I closed my eyes and the last thing I saw was a dark room, a dark room to be my last remembrance of what I would no longer have? That is a terrifying thought. I would have missed my last chance to see the light. That simply won't happen. I will make sure of it. I want the last thing I see to be most memorable. What is THE most memorable thing or person to me? I don't know_.


	27. Acceptance or a Bargain?

**Chapter 27**

* * *

As time passed Sherlock's temper gradually worsened, to no avail would anything calm the madness ongoing in his mind. It was a heart-wrenching display for John to witnesses, as he often saw the worst of it. Molly occasionally came when she had her day off, and soothed the poor man, distracted him from the inevitable with idle chatter, but that relief last only as long as she was with him. The suffering one would pace up and down, well, attempt to pace was it is rather difficult to storm about a flat cluttered with rubbish. John did his best to keep the flat clutter-free, but Sherlock insisted on still performing experiments, and that meant everything pertaining to the consulting detective scientific study was thrown haphazardly around the kitchen.

Sometimes the sad man would curl up on his chair and refuse to move or eat for long periods of time. No amount of persuasion from his friends would change his disposition. He merely zoned out all noises. Those once brilliant and vibrant eyes only looked off into distance, it was, what his caring friends thought it as "a look of defeat and acceptance".

A bitter one it was though: Acceptance. How much of an acceptance is it truly so, if all it means is 'I give up'? Acceptance shouldn't equate to hopelessness his concerned friends wholeheartedly agreed. In some way or another they would bring the Sherlock they knew back, no matter how annoying or stubborn he was. They missed their friend, John most of all. He couldn't stand the disposition of his friend reduced to being trapped in a war within his own mind.

What his concerned friends didn't know of was the desperation behind Sherlock's mask of faux-Acceptance.

_No! Wait! Don't go! Hold on. Stop! Don't do this to me! Please. Take this as my last request. What I would give to have this one last case to solve. Once it is solved, you can take it away, take everything. Take my life-I do not want it any more once you are in control. What good is it to me if I cannot see,The Work is my life. Without it, I have no life, I am as good as gone. I will still alive, but there is such a difference between life and living. Time, please, I beg of you. I promise to be kind to Mycroft, not fight with him over useless things. Give mum more kisses. Listen to father more. Promises and more! Please. Let me see the ones I care most about before I sink into the whirlpool devoid of all beauty and colour. I promise to remember the earth revolves around sun and recall every fact about the nine planets, if only I could see the magnificence of space still. Time...show some compassion, please. The world showed no compassion to me, but you could. One last request. Grant me please.  
_

This was the raging battle no one would be able to help him. This was not Acceptance, this was Bargain. Time drove a hard bargain because he made a deal with the Devilish Mighty Twenty-two. Sherlock's plea did not carry the same weight Twenty-two did; the heavier one won, obviously.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I'm so so sorry. I can't help you anymore._

_Sincerly,_

_Time_

* * *

Of the weeks leading up to the special date, Mary made an extra effort to talk with Sherlock. She wanted him to have no doubt, not been of the smallest amount that the marriage would not change the friendship he and John had established so long ago in that fated meeting at the lab. Some days she had pleasant conversations with him about scientific topics or experiments, those were his best days. He was quite the gentleman then, opening the door for her, making tea, and the like. On his worst days, Sherlock would only stare at the wall he peppered with bullets ages ago. He refused to talk, but couldn't refuse to listen as much as he tried to filter out her words, he just couldn't. It was some unknown essence keeping his mind and hearing fully engaged with her voice. Mary, the strong willed one she is, was undaunted despite his behaviour. She merely chatted to him in a one-sided conversation about her work or wedding arrangement.

It was purely a coincidence that John overheard the conversation his Mary was having with his best mate on a mostly bad day. He hadn't mean to eavesdrop, but the intriguing topic stopped him short from coming down the steps into Sherlock's flat. Leaning over the railing he heard his fiancée's words, words he was a bit thrown aback at:

"I haven't know your for very long Sherlock, but I'm your friend. I hope you know and remember it. John is your best mate and my husband-to-be, that is the best combination of titles ever. The kind of relationship you two have is quite remarkable. I may be his wife, but it is you he will always run to first. I am second rate to my own husband, most women wouldn't have been able to last this long in a relationship with him, but I am different. Together both of us can make John truly happy. We both want that, I know for a certainly. In order for that to happen, you must be happy. Truly happy."

* * *

He didn't sleep often for long periods of time, but recently he couldn't keep his concentration on anything for long periods of time. Why that was so the consulting detective couldn't understand at all. Granted, he had a lot on his mind at present with his personal health and the unfinished case. It was most vexing, not being able to solve the case.

What was wrong with NSY? Why couldn't they provide any useful information for their consulting detective to work with? He was a detective, not a miracle worker. Surely they could distinguish the two...but one could never be too sure especially if Anderson was involved. That man, that Philip, was such an odd man. Not a brain cell of decency, it's a wonder how he manages anything by himself! Anderson wasn't a bad man, or an unintelligent one, it was just he chose to pick fights with a five-years old grown man. Shame on Anderson for knowing better and still doing it, and shame on Sherlock for acting like a child all the time.

The case finally started to progress quicker, a lead was found at a vandalised building. At first it seemed as if a was merely delinquent wreaking havoc in the area, but this one was significant. Ordinarily, it would have been dismissed as another nuisance, but this was different. The number 8 was painted in bright red all over the building, close to where the five criminals were apprehended. It was clearly connect to the criminals still locked up in the holding cells. NSY finally made some progress after slaving away scouring the resources for information on the creature markings. Turns out the creatures, colours, and number of criminals involved were all rather significant. Greg was beyond thrilled, and phoned the consulting detective hastily.

_Perhaps Time was extending his merciful hand, it only begs to wonder: What kind of deal did Time make with the Mightily Twenty-two?_

"Sherlock! We've got a lead for the Spider Web case. Coming?"

"Of course George! Don't be daft, you know how long I've been wanting to finish the case,"Sherlock fired back shooting straight out of his chair trying not to trip over his own feet for being so hasty causing him to nearly plant his face on the rug, "Would have gone faster if your minions knew where to look. I will be right over."

"My name is GREG, as in GREGORY LESTRADE!" Lestrade punctuated rather loudly to the consulting detective's answer. "At least he remembered the first letter correctly, that's progress, I guess?" the DI mumble to himself whilst massaging his temple. That grown child gave him more grey hairs than all his past stressful encounters working for NSY added up and tripled.

"Whatever. It's not important," Sherlock dismissed with a careless flick of the wrist, "Get up John! The game is on! Hurry up! Let's go NOW!" Lestrade couldn't get the phone away from his ear fast enough, Sherlock's voice screamed through the earpiece clearly despite being so far away from his face. He shuddered, that voice nearly blew out his eardrum. Thank goodness Lestrade was in his office with the door closed all the way when he phoned, or else the entire floor would have heard Sherlock screeching at his turtle-paced flatmate. They probably heard some of it anyway, Sherlock was known to be overly dramatic. _What a surprise that was_...

Sure enough the two men stood before Lestrade with a scowl on their faces, but for entirely different reasons. He couldn't help but chuckle at the déjà vu feeling from weeks ago when an over eager beaver got elbow jabbed in the side by an annoyed half-asleep companion.

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, "Well?! What are you waiting for Gilbert? I haven't got all day. I do have a life besides solving crimes for you pathetic lot."

John shot an incredulous look at his flatmate gawping like a fish out of the water.

_Really? Did you really just say that Sherlock? You have a life besides solving crimes?! Well excuse me, but I beg to differ by a wide margin. Where should we begin, I've got a running list. All you ever complain about is not having enough cases to solve._

Gregory Lestrade huffed an exasperated sigh and John offered a sympathetic smile, it was clear the brilliant minded talking encyclopaedia would never remember the good detective inspector's first name. It wasn't important information, but it would have been a nice gesture since typically remembering the first name of friends is considered good manners.

"Well, let's go then!" Lestrade announced, so they headed off to investigative the newest evidence.

* * *

 

**The idiom "Catch-22" refers to a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions. I'm not sure how many readers understood the reference in the last chapter entitled with the idiom, or the reference in this chapter, but now everyone knows! :) The idiom comes from " _Catch_ - _22"_ , a satirical novel by the American author Joseph Heller.  
**


	28. I Found My Answers

**Chapter 28**

* * *

The case was finally closed. After all that time, it was finally done. As it turns out, the criminals were linked indirectly to the Black Lotus gang London had the good fortune of dancing the tango with a while back. It was a mess of things with this presently solved case, so much time wasted when the answer was staring them straight in the face, like a déjà vu feeling for the Underground Terrorist Group case, that really was the underground terrorist group, quite literally. They should have noticed the signs earlier, but obviously, it was too obvious and overlooked. The markings on the criminals mimicked the Chinese characters graffiti-ed all over the place, each one had a special meaning.

With a lot of effort expended, every little detail became significant. There was the Spider, a crucial point that was overlooked. The criminals repeated Spider over and over, unbeknownst to Sherlock, John and NSY, was the word "Spider" in Chinese sounded similar to "Lord". Thus, this Spider they referred to was their Lord, or the one who commissioned the criminal activity. Each of the five criminals was marked specifically to represent one of the five poisons of Chinese history: snake, scorpion, centipede, lizard, and toad. Fight poison with poison was their motto. All of those creatures were known to be poisonous in one form or another. This gang was particularly fond of using deadly drugs to harm the weak, or thin, or short people passing by on the busy streets and on the platforms. All they had to do was inject a passer-by and run off. Euthasol* was the gang of five's most favourite one to use, it was quick to administer and painful. They didn't have a reason to hurt people, but did it because to watch others suffer was enjoyable for them. Disgusting scums they are!

When Sherlock, John, and NSY found Larry, Curly, and Moe in the old abandoned building, the three were trying to meet up with the dealer of their drugs, but the dealer never showed up. Whatever went wrong in their meeting NSY was sure glad of it, temporarily, it mean one less thing to worry with. Now the search was for the drug dealer and the Spider, but so far not a single bit of information to base a lead on.

* * *

Both men were pleased with how the ending turned out to be for this case. It was the best of moods Sherlock had been in for weeks, John couldn't have been happier. To hear his best mate laugh and joke with him at the dinner made everything seem so much more delightful.

_If someone else's mood affects yours, then that means just how much you value their friendship._

Another celebration dinner happened at Angelo's. Huzzah! No candles too! Angelo knew better than that, considering John's marriage to his dear Mary was coming up quickly. Very quickly. John had little flutters inside every single time he thought of that special date, but didn't let on because it wouldn't have been manly to do so. "I am a doctor and soldier, no room for sentimental emotions. Compassion yes, but not emotions. Not the same," John reprimanded himself.

* * *

Recalling back to when NSY and the two civilians first arrived at the vandalised building everything became clear at that moment. A proverbial light bulb went off.

_Sherlock saw every little detail, and formulated an answer immediately._

As much as Sherlock would have jumped at the chance to take ownership of that thought, it was really John who saw everything, and he only formulated the answer. His pride wouldn't let him speak his thoughts aloud in the presence of the unintelligent Yard officers, but now in the privacy of their celebratory dinner it was alright to drop the façade. John will always be his best friend. "John doesn't care what I am like; he has seen the worst of me. After all, potential flatmates should know the worst of each other," Sherlock reasoned internally.

Sitting poised at the table, Sherlock stared at John waiting for his companion to notice. He wanted John to speak first before baring his innermost thoughts. This was a special occasion. Everything had to be exactly right. After a moment's time, John finally looked straight into those gleaming stunning eyes. The pair of eyes may not be able to see clearly for much longer, but they would always gleam. Nothing would change that.

A smile that danced in his eyes for the success of the night, it was by no means Sherlock's last one though, John was certain of it.

_The socially awkward talking-encyclopaedia was amazingly brilliant despite his complete lack of tactfulness in almost every situations. He would not let a hindrance destroy his life, Sherlock was Sherlock. He doesn't take NO for an answer. Blindness would only take his sight, but nothing else. Not The Work. Not his beautiful mind. Not his strange behaviours during the wee hours of the morning. Only his sight. A minor set back to the thrilling chase he thrived on._

"Sherlock? Sherl...lock," John dragged the name out into many syllables. "Are you alright? Bit lost in space, are you?" John joked softly, reeling the detective's mind back to earth.

"Yes John. I am fine, more than fine actually. I am just contemplating how I realised I was missing a crucial part in this case, and found it whilst at the crime scene. I kept pushing it away when I should have been focusing on it," responded the consulting detective who had found John's eyes and focused intently on them.

"Yes, and..." prompted John with an accompanying hand wave gesture not knowing which way the conversation would be heading. It was a vague way to start a conversation. Any conversation with Sherlock was like riding a roller coaster, wild and moody. One minuet could be humorous, and the next sombre and depressing.

Without breaking his gaze, Sherlock cleared his throat and took a sip of water. Sentiment wasn't really his forte of expertise. Granted, there were times he employed his emotions as part of the case, but genuine heartfelt vocalisation of his thoughts wasn't the simplest nor common for him at all. He felt insecure and very inexperienced.

"It was such a crucial point, but I didn't realise it because I was too focused on other aspects which clouded my judgement. Stupid mistake. Won't happen again. _I...I found...you at the crime scene_ ," Sherlock replied, ending the comment barely above a whisper.

An expression of shock and puzzlement plastered the doctor's face, "I don't understand. Are you alright? You just admitted a mistake in your part. You asked me follow along on the case, just like we always do. We started this case together and we finished it, just like usual. I means, yes, I was there at the building. We both were and a load of others too, but I never left your side. You didn't have a reason to find me. I was right there. You were never alone Are you feeling alright?"

The detective stifled a sigh, he really was rubbish at explaining anything that wasn't related to experiments or crime scenes, "I'm perfectly fine, do stop asking me that. The answer is always the same. Perfectly fine. But you're missing the point. Don't you see it? Of course you can see well, don't answer that. Stupid question. Moving on. You were there with me, and never left me alone with those bumbling NSY officers. You described the building's details to me secretly, even though I didn't ask you to directly. I know you didn't want the others to hear you speaking, that was...good...very good. I thought it was...uh...good...quite good."

_As he finished speaking, Sherlock tucked his Heart back into its dungeon deep within his Mind Palace. He earnestly hoped brining out his Heart was a good decision, one that reward him with feelings of joy and appreciation. He couldn't remember the last time his Heart came out. It must have been too painful to cope, so deleted it from his memory. A vague blur of soft red silky grass flashed in his mind, was it grass? Grass wasn't red or silky...it certainly didn't look like a tail either._

A compassionate smile stretched wide across John's face, he knew exactly how this conversation was heading.

_This was good. Very good. His Heart felt happy._

Sherlock's words were clear to John now, it was his way of saying, "Thank you for being there with me John, as my best friend, companion, blogger, and as my eyes. I really value our friendship. You, John, are crucial to me. I understand this now, I have people that really are my friend regardless of the circumstances. Alone does not protect me, friends do. I can still solve cases if we work together. I need you, will you stay?"

John reassured his best friend the point was clearly understood and thanked him from expressing his thoughts. Finishing their dinner, together the two of them set off to the flat. Sherlock's hand cupped John's elbow as they meandered through the crowded pavement littered with bins and papers. _"Thank you Time. You have been wonderful, it seems you favoured Sherlock in the end and helped him. Thank you, this has truly brought his true self back,"_ John looked at the stars and whispered softly.

* * *

In his eyes he saw the night was beautiful, so many stars dotted the jet black curtain gleaming like their eyes.

In whose eyes?

In his eyes the world he saw was magnificent, so many undiscovered wonders just waiting for them.

In whose eyes?

It all depends on whose eyes to look through, but in the end the view is the same.

* * *

**A-N: Sorry. It was a sad but heartfelt chapter dear to me as I work in the animal medicine field.** **EUTHASOL**- This is the drug used to "put pets to sleep". It comes in a unmistakeable neon pink colour.**


	29. I am Mycroft Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intercalary chapter from Mycroft's point of view. Enjoy!

**Chapter 29**

* * *

From the moment I saw Mummy holding him at the hospital I felt happy. No. More than happy, it was pure bliss. I was thrilled at the prospect of having a little sibling. I promised myself right then and there that nothing would happen to him if I had any control over the situation.

This is my baby brother Sherlock; he is so many years younger than I am. He is defenceless, weak, and tiny. I am the elder one, I must protect him. Not out of duty, or forced to, but because I love him. _Love in its strongest form- Agape_. Agape means having unconditional love for him, my brother. Love without regulations, simply pure and whole hearted devotion to him.

This is MY BABY brother William Sherlock Scott Holmes, no matter what age he might be. If he cries then they must grovel for mercy from the wrath of Mycroft.

I had someone to talk with at last. When I saw his first tumble as he learnt to walk, I made sure to cheer him at every step. I wanted him to run alongside me. We would have done everything together.

_Stand up again! Keep going. Good Sherlock, now just move a bit faster. Yes!_

I just couldn't wait for him to run around in our garden examining nature closely with me. I would teach him everything about politics and science. By the time Sherlock was in primary school, he surpassed his classmates with his knowledge. Granted, a little work on the presentation of information would benefit him greatly. Well...learning a new skill takes time...for my brother dearest though, it would be quite a large deal of time in tying to master that art.

_It was perfect._

_Then everything changed._

I loathed it.

Absolutely detested it.

He was only ten years old, but merely a boy when the diagnosis came crashing in like a tsunami stripping away everything from him.

_I hated the doctors for ruining our perfect world. "I'm so sorry to inform you but your son will have aggressive progressive vision loss as he reaches adulthood," breaking thew news as gently as they could._

NO! How could that be?

Everything changed. Sherlock changed. I changed. Mum and Dad changed.

The diagnosis struck us all hard, Sherlock most of all. He no longer smiled as much, or laughed either. It was as if the condition took him away and left the shell of my brother dearest.

The only one who stayed the same was Redbeard. Faithful and loyal Redbeard.

Merely just a young boy and given the fateful news was quite a powerful blow my little brother. For nearly a month he sulked and wouldn't do anything, but keep Redbeard and his violin at his side. Those were his most valued possessions. The intelligent canine wandered into our hearts right when Sherlock was born, and is still in our hearts to this day even when his finally gave out. That was the first time I felt dread. It shattered Sherlock greatly when his beloved companion left. Dogs weren't meant to live long lives like people, especially since Redbeard was a couple of years old already when he found us.

I still recall the conversation at the veterinary hospital, a dismal and depressing one it was.

* * *

_"I'm so sorry to be meeting you on a day like this. This is a very hard decision to make, but I want you to know this is the right thing for Redbeard. He won't be suffering any longer. I understand you wish to have him cremated and presented in an engraved box. Would you like a clay paw print and a clip of his fur?" spoke the veterinarian softly. Her hair was pulled back into a neat tight bun at the base of her neck, the bun brushing the imaginary specks of dust off the collar of her white coat. She stroked the canine's ear gently and ran her fingers through his fur, old age had taken the red silky shine from it._

_"We understand, thank you. Yes please, the paw print and fur," Mrs. Holmes replied stoically._

_The vet nurse silently left the room and quickly returned with the proper supplies. Sherlock made the paw print and save some of Redbeard's fur in a bag. The vet nurse gathered the supplies and said, "Take all the time you need and just open the door when you're ready. We'll come then."_

_Together the medical professionals left the room quickly and quietly. Now all attention was on Sherlock, who was cradling his beloved friend in his lap with tears streaming down his face._

_"I'm so so sorry Redbeard, forgive me please. I only want the best for you and right now this is the only option. You've never left me alone, I won't leave you now my faithful companion. I love you," said the little boy in a broken whisper choking back more tears._

_"My poor little brother, I shall teach you a very vital lesson so you will never have to experience pain like this again," I thought. "Caring is not an advantage. All lives end and all hearts are broken. Pay heed to those words and your life will never be this painful. I couldn't bear to see you in this state again. Remember Redbeard, never forget him. Never forget the laughter, love, and friendship he gave you."_

_"Now," whimpered the little one. "I'm ready."_

_Not a moment after the door to the exam room was opened, the veterinarian and nurse returned with the supplies._

_"I will explain each step to you so there will be no surprises. First, we will soak his fur with a little water to smooth it down, making the vein easier to see. My assistant will hold the vein, but you may keep him in your lap. Talk to him, kiss him, hug him. Remember all the exciting times you've shared. Are you ready?" finished the kind doctor._

_The Holmes family lost their voice at that moment, so just nodded. "I'm prepared for this, I know what will happen," each thought but the actual process of it shocked them._

_It really is happening._

_This is it._

_Redbeard is dying._

_Goodbye Redbeard._

_The veterinarian slowly pressed the pink juice into the vein._

_A final breath escaped the beautiful animal before the weight of his head sunk into Sherlock's hand._

_An outburst of tears from Sherlock shattered the silence of the room. The feeling of Life leaving the body is such a feeling so chilling and humbling at the same time. Life is miracle that can be quickly taken in less than a second. Literally. It's something that can't be explained, only felt. To feel Death is to feel powerless. The feeling of a lifeless body in my arms is dreadful. Sherlock carried the body of his beloved one to the packing material the vet nurse held out and silently wrapped Redbeard in it. The next time Sherlock would see his best friend would be in a carved pine box.  
_

* * *

With only his violin to comfort him on his bad days, he had more and more bad days. There were days so bad his music only made it worse. It was a dangerous path that soon led to his first taste of drugs. In time, Redbeard was tucked away in my brother dearest's vast memory, never to be mentioned again. Later on, when his spirit turned up drugs, they were used to keep his mind from exploding out of boredom.

_What a sad life you've lived brother dear in that time, you could have come to us for help. You have always known that, always. Mum, Dad, and I don't want to see your life wasted away. Why didn't you come back?_

Then Lestrade appeared in our lives, he was a miracle worker to some degree. Sherlock quit his drug and smoking habit, instead found his source of "high" from solving murder mysteries. It was a good trade. A very good trade, though I wouldn't admit it directly.

Then Doctor John Hamish Watson came. He is a miracle worker also. How wrong I was in judgement of him when we first met. John Watson deserves more credit than anyone ever gives him. He brought my brother back.


	30. Is this Happily Every After?

**Chapter 30**

* * *

The wedding was only three days away, everyone felt giddy, even Sherlock; however ironic that might seem, for the man wasn't the first to congratulate John on the happy announcement. Still, Mary's words struck him hard, he knew shemeant every word of what she said.

_"I haven't known you for very long Sherlock, but I'm your friend. I hope you know and remember it. John is your best mate and my husband-to-be, which is the best combination of titles ever. The kind of relationship you two have is quite remarkable. I may be his wife, but it is you he will always run to first. I am second rate to my own husband, most women wouldn't have been able to last this long in a relationship with him, but I am different. Together both of us can make John truly happy. We both want that, I know for a certainly. In order for that to happen, you must be happy. Truly happy, Sherlock."_

Mary was one of the few he learnt to trust, certainly not as much as he trusted John or Molly, but he did trust her to a degree. He believed every word, the wedding ceremony was simply to declare the union before others and make it legal. John was only moving up to the next flat, and not to some far away place in the outbacks of Australia. The two men (or "boys" as Mary and Molly called them) could literally be in the same room practically 24-7 if they really wanted that to happen.

John's marriage would change nothing in their friendship; Sherlock wholeheartedly believed it because Mary made John happy. It was complex love triangle: Sherlock, Mary, and John all felt affection for each other. John's affection was hard to place a label to, but the closest it would seem was "Philia" (brotherly love). It is affectionate regard or friendship. A dispassionate virtuous love. It includes loyalty to friends, family, requires virtue, equality and familiarity. It is a type of love between families, between friends. It was the ideal description of John's and Sherlock's love for each other. Proof for their love was evident always in their conversations, perhaps not to others, but certain amongst the two. It was the unspoken essence, yet heard louder than anything else.

* * *

Mary mentioned Sherlock's uncomfortableness of the whole deal and suggested the two sit down and have a heartfelt Man-to-Man, well, as heartfelt as Sherlock would make it, give his predisposition to tuning out all emotional aspects.

Thus, John had a very long discussion with his Best Mate/Best Friend reassuring him all will still be the same.

_Marriage changes people, but that doesn't mean the others are forgotten._

John would drill that concept into his friends hardheaded brain, for a certainty Sherlock would know it and understand its full meaning.

"Yes, Sherlock. We will still go on cases together," John reassured the man.

"Promise. I will always help you. Ok? Can you please put that somewhere in your Mind Palace and not forget it? I won't leave, neither will Mary. We care you far too much for that to happen. Ok?"

He closed his eyes and bobbed his head in understanding fighting the urge to say, "Yes, John. I know. I have always and Mary have a very important place in my Mind Palace." To speak would equate showing sentiment, that just couldn't happen with John. Sentiment is only reserved for the privacy of him alone when having a bath reasoned the man. Instead he merely opened his mouth willing some words to come out.

"Yes. Good. Can we still ann...?" The consulting detective began but was cut off with the exasperated reply, "Yes, you can annoy Anderson all you want, just save your face though. He might someday actually punch you instead of just threatening it. Why bother even ask about that Sherlock?

"That is a good question John." was the only reply and he shrugged nonchalantly.

 _Did he really need a reason to annoy the Yard? Nope!_ Sherlock did as he wished most of the time anyway.

"All you two ever do is pick on each other, who can come up with the worst insult or push all the buttons the wrong way. It's not as if you needed my permission to harass anyone." He then muttered under his breath, "It's not as if you would actually listen to me if I gave you permission any way. You takes my things all the time despite my adamant protests, and run off after criminals before I can shout 'No'."

Sherlock answered with good humour, "I'm blind not deaf John. I can hear each word you say. Regardless,"Sherlock nodded slowly,"but he is on the losing end-always! I don't think anyone is ever able to top his lack of intelligence. Have you heard his most recent preposterous theory concerning our latest triple murder case with the mouse?"

John huffed an annoyed sigh. He and Lestrade played Referee far too many times, it became a running bet between the two to time how long before the "two girls" could last without firing the first shot. So far the record was a grand whole whopping one minuet and twenty-six seconds. Seriously! Those "girls" really needed to find a new hobby, preferably one that wasn't prone to firing insults.

"Do I even want to? Probably not, but you're still going to tell me, so just spill it."

"It was tortuous John! Just dreadful! I had to stand there and listen to his rubbish nonsense, while you and Lestrade were doing some tedious record keeping." Sherlock whined like a child who didn't get his way.

"Really? It was that bad? Do continue." John remarked with a voice dripping with sarcasm and rolled his eyes.

"Yes! It was! My mind was turning into mush. I could physically feel my interiors slowly disintegrate. First, my fontal lobe started to become sluggish and it started to..."

John leaned forward and put his hand on Sherlock shoulder to cut him off short,but startled the man instead.

Sherlock flinched and swung his arm out so fast John had to duck to avoid being caught in its path. Those eyes shot open like "deer caught in the lights" look just as he bellowed so loudly scaring the ladies down stairs, who could hear his every word, "Do not EVER do that again to me John Watson! Ever!"

Stunned at the reaction, John instantly withdrew his hand safely to his chest and sat there staring at his best friend. Something possessed him in that moment when he felt that touch, that was not the "Sherlock" John knew. Sherlock was never violent, at least never to him.

_What happened Sherlock? I'm so sorry I startled you. I shouldn't have reached for you, but told you instead. I really didn't meant to, all I wanted to tell you is not to get so worked up about Anderson. He's not the brightest bulb, it ok. Just try not to let him get to you._

Neither men moved for some time, each trying to process the event, but someone had to speak first.

"John, I... I'm... I don't," Sherlock stumbled over his words trying to make things right with his friend. He knew he was wrong and shouldn't have lashed out.

"Sherlock, I know. I'm sorry to startle you, I..." Sherlock help up his hand, "No, let me finish. I'm sorry John, I'm sorry I hit you. I really didn't mean to. Really. I just...it wasn't expected and I reacted badly. You scared me that's all." He reached out his hand like a peace offering for his friend, John held the hand firmly.

"Friends?" came the unsure voice.

"No. Best friends." Always. Don't you forget that! I will hold you to it Sherlock. Also, you didn't hit me. Got to be quicker if you want that to happen."

Sherlock just laughed. It was a delightful sound to John's ears. No hard feelings were left in them, merely a never-to-be-repeated minor accident. He couldn't help but join in.

Laughing never felt better.

With that small mishap their friendship only grew to a new understanding, stronger if nothing else.

* * *

Little did they know that the three most important ladies to the men had silently climb the steps and hovered in the door way to the room looking at "the boys" make a fool of themselves with their silly behaviour. They caught the last bit of the serious part of the conversation, but could guess out the rest. It was a silent agreement they wouldn't mention it.

"Can we join in?" Molly pipped up as she made her way standing next to Sherlock and let him take her hand, "this is seems quite fun with the two of your carrying like this."

Mary seated herself in John's lap wrapping her arms around her. "Care to enlighten your future bride what all this jokes is about? Can't be keeping secrets from me, you know," she finished with a playful smile.

"No, of course not. Wouldn't even dream of it," John replied planting a kiss on her forehead.

There were still many little issues to resolve amongst the future and current lodgers of 221 Baker Street, but all would be well in time for the wedding. The wedding would be an absolute delight, that much everyone had full confidence in.

* * *

**A-N: The sequel has been posted and completely written. It is titled "Watching Each Other". I hope this story peaks your interest into reading the sequel.**

**T** **hank you so much for staying and finishing the story as I write it. I hope you've enjoyed it.**

**One final note and that will be it for this story. :D**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, there is a huge thank you to each of you that read/finished/commented on the story. What started as a little idea taken from a simple head-cannon challenge turned into this big thing. I don't like calling out names because I know I will forget someone unintentionally and they will have hurt feelings; however, an extra huge thank you goes to the ones that wrote me some very good criticism, ideas, and encouragement.   
> Merci beacoup ma chérie!
> 
> Secondly, as I mentioned a few time in the Author's Note that there was an underlying principle to this story- this is it. Kübler-Ross model (aka 5 Stages of Grief). The 5 stages are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Several comment were made about "getting into" a character's head and knowing his thought; my intent was to portray those 5 stages in that manner. I hope it came across well- the chapter titles are hints to the stages.
> 
> Thirdly, referring to the title of the story I chose "In Whose Eyes?" because this story shifted the focus of the 5 stages between several different characters from their own viewpoints. An example would be chapters "Yorrick and John" or "Counting Down the Days". Be it John's literal sight or Sherlock's figurative, they saw the same goals: Friendship and solving cases side by side.  
> Thank you so much! :)  
> XinLan


	31. This Ending and This Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Sherlock's blindness increasing more severely, he still goes to crime scenes with the faithful doctor, so all appears fine but isn't. It's crucial John must learn to "see" how Sherlock once could. He loathes the black inevitable void and resists all help given- especially detests the white cane. NO Slash/Vulgarity. Happy Ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 of Watching Over Each Other. Enjoy.  
> This story was posted on F F N: 17 Apr 2014 and complete 17 Feb 2016

**Watching Over Each Other  
**

* _*This story picks up right where "In Whose Eyes?" left off. Think of this chapter as the 'next day' in the end of Chapter 30.**_

_You do Not need to read In Whose Eyes to understand this story._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The morning light came flooding through the crack between the half-drawn curtains rousing the sleeping men. Today was not a good day for oversleeping, neither men wanted to be late. There would be a lot of grief if they were so.

John stretched and cracked the bones in his spine. Kipping out in his chair was definitely something he would not be doing again anytime soon. "I'm getting far too old for this; I need to sleep in a proper bed and not just flopping down on any random piece of furniture. My neck and back are paying dearly for my laziness." John mumbled to himself.

"I agree, you knew the outcome, but I'm surprised as to why you stayed instead of go up to your room," said the unmistakeable voice filtering out from the blankets piled on the sofa, "It would have been more logical to return upstairs once Mary and Molly went home than stay here in this room. I estimate that about thirty percent of today's conversation from you will some way reflect on your body's pain from not sleeping in its accustomed place. Furthermore, I believe today also will have some very interesting ..."

Sherlock didn't sleep, or at least he didn't think he did. It just so happened that after dinner and playing mindless board games with their friends, he wandered around his Mind Palace carefully filing important information about the past day into their respective Rooms. It was exhausting work so had to take a short break from it. Well, apparently that "short break" turned into all night.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock. I know, my neck is already protesting rather loudly. Trust me, I won't forget this. Please. It's way too early in the morning for this to start. Can't you at least wait till I've had a cuppa before you go off on your ramblings?" John complained massaging his neck as he went to put on the kettle and start breakfast. "Fancy something special to eat this morning, Sherlock?"

Sherlock untangled himself from the mound of blankets and made his way to the window, "No. I ate the other day. Don't you remember how your charming, fiancée and the other two ladies forced some dinner into me last night? They just wouldn't take "No" for an answer. He pouted for a moment letting the sun's rays caress his face. "What time is it?"

Suppose it was just habit that the first thing Sherlock did every morning was too look out and watch London wake up. Ever since a child, Sherlock always looked out the window first thing every single morning. This morning there were people milling around, or rushing off to the office via cab or on foot. John never knew about his habit because the doctor was always up in his room when Sherlock stood at the window or rushing around getting ready for work too busy to notice. "John wouldn't understand, he'd probably laugh at me for being so soft," Sherlock chastised himself. It was a sentimental aspect that he shamefully allowed himself to indulge in. He needed to break that habit; it no longer served any purpose to him. He had been watching London every morning since his arrival to Baker Street years ago to know well the schedule of the people passing by under his window. Watching London wake up was just another thing added to the ever growing list of things he couldn't do that anymore.

Holding his hand out at arms distance the self-proclaimed non-sentimental man could make out a faint outline of it if the room was bright enough. To him, he saw the world as if he had on sunglasses watching an old black and white film on screen in the theatre. It was just enough to distinguish light, darkness, shapes and shadows.

_No point crying over it, I'll just find some new hobbies. I've always wanted to become a beekeeper, I could start researching now for it. It's seems enjoyable and something interesting could come from it._

John suppressed a groan and smart remark about not eating properly and how the human body wasn't designed for not eating. It didn't matter; John would get food into his friend. "Just after half seven. By the way, I hope you do _KNOW_ what today is right?" He said poking his head back in the room to find the consulting detective seated in his chair cradling his violin like a guitar softly play a few random chords.

_How could I ever forget? It is the biggest day in John's life and that means my life too._

"Yes, I remember," he said plainly.

Waiting for the kettle to boil John rummaged around the cupboards looking for something edible and not infected with one of Sherlock's more questionable experiments.

_Today is special, the best day of my life. I will not have him pass out from malnutrition. I will make sure he stands next to me on this important day. Where would I be without him? I don't know honestly. Living off the money from being invalided wouldn't have gotten me much at all. My war wounds might have even progresses worse, who would want to hire me then for anything? A bumbling ex-doctor who stumbles around and can't keep a steady hand. That life seems so depressing; certainly not at all like the exciting life I've had ever since I met him. He cured my wounds and had me trailing after some of the most dangerous men in all of UK. I also wouldn't have met my darling wife-to-be either. I owe him quite a lot, much more than he thinks so._

After much lively discussion and quite some time later, John finally got his flatmate to eat something before going up to dress for the occasion. "Just call me if you need anything, ok?" John called over his shoulder climbing up the steps, he knew today would be wonderful and want his Best Man to enjoy it also.

Sherlock headed to his room and pulled out his "armour". With a sigh he accepted the fact the wedding really was indeed happening, "Right, into battle then," donning on the three-piece suit. _Stupid bow tie! I never wear neckties. Why does having to tie a bow make it so complex!? Ok. That's settled. I'm not wearing it._ The frustrated man untied the knot he made and just left the neckwear draped limply over his shoulders.

* * *

"Ready John?" called Sherlock who was holding his violin case across his lap and drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Yes, just give me a moment to get my shoes." Sherlock could hear the nervous groom scuttle around the flat gathering last minuet possession. His wallet. His phone. The boutonnière and pin...  
"Ok. Ready finally. Got everything you need Sherlock?" Came the long-awaited reply. The man nodded and rose clutching the case in his right hand. "Hold up," John brushed his fingers over Sherlock's to let him know where he stood then reached out for the untied bow tie.

"Why is this not tied?"  
"Because it didn't want to be," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.  
"Well that's not going to work. It has to be tied. You're not leaving the flat half dressed. Give me your case and tie it."  
"No."  
"Sherlock," John warned. "Tie it or I will."  
One sighed and the other groaned, yet again another little battle over the most trivial matters.  
"Fine. Just do it." Sherlock snapped.  
With a quick flick of the wrist it into a neat and crisp bow tie.

_New note. Date: Wedding day. Fact: John knows how to tie a bow tie properly. File: John Watson. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved._

"Now we're both properly ready. Let's go!"

John offered his elbow to Sherlock, to which he took, and followed the groom out the door. _This is it, my final moments of being a bachelor. When I walk through that door again I will be a married man. My beautiful bride on one side and best friend on the other._


End file.
